You had me at 'Cybertron'
by BlushLouise
Summary: The war is over. Millions of years of fighting left scars on everyone. Cynosura, once Isobel Harrington, psychologist of Earth, has her work cut out for her. As if handling Starscream and the others wasn't enough, she has to cope with life as a different species. No amount of human experience could have prepared her for life as a motorbike. Sequel to You had me at 'Holoform'.
1. Waking up

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 _Language module activated. Preparing translation program…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _Translation program activated. Complete HUD language change initiated._

 _…_

 _…_

 _Language change complete. Initiating boot-up._

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _Boot-up complete. Activating motor control center._

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _Motor control center activated. Sensory suite online._

"WAKE UP, LOVE. COME BACK TO ME. IT'S TIME TO WAKE UP NOW."

 _Involuntary motion registered. Audial input at maximum. Adjusting._

 _…_

 _Adjustment complete._

 _Running systems check._

 _Energon levels: maximum_

 _Fuel pump expediency: within parameters_

 _Self-repair diagnostics: within parameters_

 _Motor control: functional_

 _Memory access: limited. Rebooting memory core._

 _Optical input: minimal. Rebooting optical center._

 _…_

 _Optical center rebooted._

There's… light. It's strangely green-tinted.

 _Memory core rebooted. Accessing memory._

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _Memory errors registered._

"Hello, child. What is your name?"

My mind is muddled. The someone's speaking to me, I'm sure, but I don't know how to reply. Or even what to reply.

 _Designation: Cynosura._

No. No, that's not right. Is it?

I'm Isobel. Isobel.

 _Memory errors registered.._

 _Vocalizer error registered. Rebooting vocalizer._

"Don't worry, sparklet." I look towards the sound. A familiar face is smiling at me. "Give your frame time to wake up properly."

 _Designation: Ratchet._

Yes. Yes, I remember Ratchet. He's safe.

 _Vocalizer rebooted._

"I'm… I'm Isobel. Aren't I? But it says I'm… It says I'm Cynosura. I don't understand."

Ratchet smiles. "Do you remember yourself?"

 _Memory cache accessed._

Suddenly, a myriad of images shoot through my mind. I see myself as a child with my family around me, on a plane with other familiar figures, in a large bed, running on a beach. The images flash past and fade away before I have the chance to recognize most of them, but they all feel familiar.

 _Memory incomplete._

 _Memory cache errors registered._

"I was Isobel, I remember that." I speak slowly, trying to figure out how I'm doing it while I'm doing it. Everything feels different, like my mind isn't connected to my body anymore. "There is… a lot of memory errors, it says. I don't know what that means."

"Do you remember us?"

I turn towards the new voice, and the little square of text that's been informing me of my progress suddenly blasts into fast action again.

 _Designation: First Aid._

 _Potential bondmate identified._

 _Initiate bonding procedure Y/N_

I choose N so fast I don't even realize how I do it. My mind is still muddled, and I don't feel like myself, but I still don't like the sound of that. It sounds like bondage, and that is not something I want to do in a crowded room.

There's something really strange about the entire request, but I can't pinpoint what it is.

I do recognize the mech in front of me, though.

I smile at First Aid. My First Aid, my Protectobot, much smaller in my field of vision than usual. And still with that weird green tint.

 _Visor detected._

… that might explain it. I guess the suit Wheeljack designed will take some getting used to.

That's it. That's what weird. I'm in Wheeljack's suit. That actually explains a _lot_.

"I remember you. Hello, First Aid."

He takes my hand, and I marvel how real it feels. Wheeljack really is a genius.

 _Sensory suite levels: within parameters._

I pull myself up. The suit even moves like my own body would. Only then do I fully see the others in the room. "I remember all of you."

 _Designations: Groove. Sunstreaker._

 _Sideswipe. Wheeljack. Jazz. Prowl. Optimus Prime._

 _Alpha Trion._

Except that last one, him I don't know. But I don't care. Not when my heart is pulling me towards the two on my left.

"Groove. Sunstreaker."

Groove beams a smile at me, his optics soft. He looks just as handsome as I remember.

 _Potential courtmate identified._

Shut up, text box.

Sunstreaker, though. Sunstreaker looks haggard. I'd never thought he'd let himself get to such a state. I reach for him, and he simply falls forward into my lap as if all the struts and cables keeping him upright were severed at once.

My lap that's much bigger than usual. I lift my hands, looking at them for the first time, noticing the white of my forearms and the pale silver of my intricately built palms.

Wheeljack's suit is almost like a real Cybertronian.

I touch Sunstreaker's warm plating, feel him trembling underneath my hands.

 _Designation: Sunstreaker. Familial bond detected._

 _No spark connection identified._

 _No processor connection identified._

 _Bond origin search unsuccessful._

 _Bond identifier: brother._

 _Alien relation incorporated._

 _Processor connection required._

"Sunstreaker. It says you're my brother." I frown as the trembling intensifies. My brother is in pain. A quick glance at Sideswipe, and I can tell that at least it's not getting worse. Sideswipe is smiling, beaming even, and he wouldn't do that if Sunstreaker wasn't okay. Or at least on the way to be.

So I look back at Ratchet. "It says a lot of things. I don't understand."

"That's all right, sparklet. We'll teach you." He's still smiling at me. His hand is on my back suddenly, supportive, strong, and I lean back gratefully.

I hear Ratchet and Alpha Trion talking to each other behind me, but my focus is all on Sunstreaker. The curve of his plating under my hand, all the tiny imperfections in his finish.

He used to be metal silk.

I glance at Sideswipe. I'm going to need his help if we're going to get Sunstreaker back to himself.

Sideswipe tugs Sunstreaker up and off my lap, and I let go reluctantly. "Come on, love." First Aid's voice is as gentle as his touch as he takes hold of me. He hoists me up, steadying me as I get used to the suit's legs. "We want you in a medical center for a while, until we're sure you're stable."

That makes sense. I don't feel too steady – I'm fairly sure I would have fallen over already if it wasn't for First Aid supporting me.

It's so weird to look straight into his face like this. The suit is a bit shorter than he is, but not much. I lift what feels like my face to look at him, and almost topple backward.

 _Motor function center operating below standard._

 _Equilibrium fault detected._

 _Motor relay systems rebooting._

 _…_

 _Motor relay systems rebooted._

 _Diagnostic: control error, left pede. Control error, right pede._

 _Motor function center rebooting._

 _…_

 _…_

 _Motor function center rebooted._

 _Diagnostic: control error, left pede. Control error, right pede._

 _Initiating deep scan._

Right. And there's all that. Whatever the heck it means.

This suit Wheeljack built me must have a seriously powerful AI running it. I can't keep up with what it's spouting, but it's clear enough that it affects my legs somehow. Main clue, of course, is how they don't seem to work properly.

 _Diagnostic: errant operating code, motor control relays._

I give up. That little text box is probably going to keep spouting nonsense at me, and none of it is helping me move my legs.

So I just lean against First Aid's chest. It's so strange, being of a size with him like this. We're proportionate to my body and his holoform. And I'm really relieved that I can feel him under my fingertips. This suit is much more responsive than they let me believe.

"Carry me? My legs are giving me strange signals that I don't understand."

"You'll learn." First Aid doesn't seem to be upset that he still has to cart me around. Not if his smile is anything to judge by.

And I still feel safe in his arms.

"Let's go, love." He moves with me easily, leaning down suddenly to kiss my throat.

I get another lesson in the sensitivity of Wheeljack's suit, because it feels like I have electricity running through my veins. My chest is almost aching.

 _Initiate bonding procedure Y/N_

I choose N, hiding my face against First Aid's neck. Considering how connected I am to this thing, it wouldn't surprise me if the blush is apparent on my face.

 _Initiate spark merge Y/N_

No, dammit, and what? Wheeljack must have gotten the integration wrong somewhere.

I keep hiding my face, nixing request after request to do a bunch of stuff I'm fairly sure isn't possible to do in this suit. I had actually expected Wheeljack to make a better robotic exosuit than this. Or maybe a more robotic one. With the way it's talking at me, it's like it's trying to be a real Cybertronian.

First Aid keeps walking, following the others, his hand stroking down my back every now and then. It's comforting, even though I have to turn off another slew of messages every time he does.

Eventually we emerge into sunlight. It's warm, and I turn towards it eagerly, only to whimper and squeeze my eyes shut. I turn back and burrow against First Aid's chest again.

 _Optical cortex input: maximum. Dialing down._

 _Dialing down failed. Rebooting optical center._

 _Reboot failed._

 _Diagnostic pending. Scanning visual center._

"Isobel? What's wrong?" Groove's worried voice is right next to my ear.

"Hurts," I whine. "My eyes hurt."

"Give me your arm, sparklet." Ratchet is calm, in control, and I hold up my arm without hesitation. Something pops open, a hatch of some sort, and then Ratchet is in my mind.

It was weird before. It gets really, really, _really_ weird now.

~Easy, sparklet. I just need to look at you for a minute.~

His voice is in my head. And it didn't get there through conventional means.

"Her visual center's poorly calibrated," he mutters. "And there's a slew of error messages on everything from her audios to her pedes. Let's get her back to medical, we need to do a full check on her systems."

"Should we activate her cog?" First Aid sounds hesitant, and I don't understand. It's getting really tiring to be so out of the loop.

"No, there's too much going on in her mind already. I'm afraid she'll crash if we add any more." Ratchet disappears from my mind again, and there's a click before he releases my arm. "I had to shut your visual center down, sparklet, so unfortunately you're blind for now. I know it must be disorienting. I'll fix you proper when we get back."

I pull away from First Aid's chest carefully. When I try to open my eyes, nothing happens.

This suit has really integrated with my nervous system. I'm impressed and terrified all at once.

"Why don't you transform, and we'll take her back in your alt mode?" Ratchet suggests, and First Aid's hand pauses on my back.

"Me? You don't want to carry her yourself, to better keep an eye on her?"

Ratchet chuckles as he teases my Protectobot. "Why, didn't you want to carry her yourself?"

I'm down on my feet and in Groove's arms before I have time to take another breath. Another thing that feels weird.

Without the input from my eyes, I sway in place. The condition of my legs isn't helping. Groove doesn't let me fall, though.

"Easy, Isobel." His voice is soft, gentle, and I have to N another of those infernal demands. "I've got you."

Ignoring the requests that keep peppering that information box, as well as the ache in my chest, I melt against him. "Hi, Groove. I missed you."

He laughs lightly and kisses my forehead. "Likewise, Belle. Primus, it's so good to have you back." He takes hold of my shoulders, directing me to move. "Come on. Aid's waiting for you."

"Will you come with?" I ask impulsively. The thing with Groove was brand new when they left Earth, but it feels like we've still got something, and I don't want to let him go.

Another kiss, to the back of my head this time. "I promise," he murmurs. "Not leaving you now, dearest Belle."

He guides me into First Aid's alt mode, has me lie back so Aid can strap me in.

"It's a long road and a little bumpy," he warns. "But you'll be fine."

"I'll see you later then," I murmur, trying to relax. "Don't go away."

"He'll be right next to us," First Aid chuckles. "Relax, love."

The pad I'm on begins to vibrate. I groan as I melt against it, and straps are secured across my suit.

In no time at all I'm asleep.

* * *

When I open my eyes again, I've been moved. There's a ceiling above me, bright lights, monitors beeping.

Medbay. Or whatever is the peacetime equivalent.

I turn my head, see the never-ending amount of equipment I'm hooked up to. I don't understand how it can be necessary with this much work – it's just a simple suit.

Maybe it wasn't finished when they put me into it?

"Ah, good, you're awake." Ratchet steps into my field of vision, giving me a smile. "How do you feel?"

As if the words were a signal, the little text box starts up again.

 _Memory cache errors identified._

 _Control center errors identified._

 _Fuel levels: maximum._

 _Self-repair: within parameters._

"I'm okay," I reply, sitting up on the bed. Berth now, I guess. "The suit's still giving me a slew of weird information, but I feel okay."

Ratchet pauses, looks at me strangely. "I see. Isobel, would you mind if I connected to you again? I'd like a closer look at your code."

I shrug. As I do, some part of the suit behind my shoulder thunks into a monitor stand. It stings.

 _Diagnostic: dent detected._

 _Predicted repair: minor. Self repair sufficient._

I wince. "Ouch. Yeah, sure. How did I feel that?"

"I'll explain afterward," Ratchet says as he settles down next to me. "Now, give me your arm."

I stretch out my right arm for him, marveling again at the pearly while metal covering most of it. "What do I do?"

"For now, nothing," he replies, taking my hand. "I can override your panel controls. But eventually, you have to learn to send these commands yourself."

A small panel on my forearm pops open, revealing a set of ports. Ratchet unspools a cable from his own arm. And then he connects it to me, like it's a perfectly normal thing to pull a wire from yourself and stick it into someone else.

Well, I'm on Cybertron now. It probably is.

 _Medical codes recognized._

Ratchet's optics flicker, and I can feel him in my head, rifling through things. It's enough to make me dizzy.

"Lie back down, sparklet," he murmurs. "Don't need you keeling over on me."

I tip backward gently until I'm horizontal again. It helps somewhat.

"Visual and audial center both look good," Ratchet continues. "I'm going to need to run a diagnostic on your motor control center, and I'll scan your frame as well. There may be some problems with your hip joints. And it looks like… Yeah, it looks like your frame's running a bit too far on the autonomous side."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that the frame's autonomous system's determining more of your actions than is normal. More than I expected, I mean." Ratchet replies. He digs through my head some more, then chuckles. "Primus, Isobel, you've denied… twenty-seven bonding requests and almost as many merge requests since you onlined. That's not how it's meant to work. We need to dial back the sensitivity on that thing."

"Are you saying that that wasn't supposed to happen?" I fight another wave of dizziness as Ratchet does something in the suit's code, though it feels like my real mind.

"No. You're supposed to make that kind of decision consciously. It's not supposed to keep prompting you." He frowns. "There are indications of coding errors in your control center. And your memory cache is patchy – there is nothing wrong with the actual module, but there are recollection errors." He disconnects from me, though it takes a few moments before the dizziness subsides. "Do you remember why you're here? On Cybertron, I mean?"

I close my eyes. The ceiling light is too sharp. "I remember being back in Ireland and First Aid coming to see me. He had Parker with him, and he asked me to come back here. They said I was needed. Wheeljack had built this monstrous chamber to keep me in for the journey, and I was going to be put into a suit when we got here. They told me that Starscream and the Stunticons and Vortex needed my help."

Ratchet nods. "That's all correct. What about before that? The decade since we left? The time on the base? What about before you met the Autobots?"

I think back.

 _Memory cache error registered._

 _Memory: faulty._

A barrage of images hits me. I see myself as a child, with my family. Celebrating someone's birthday. Graduating. A million little moments. I see the 'Bots, partying on Diego Garcia, Blaster in his demon holoform. First Aid massaging me, Sunstreaker's intense stare. All my metal family.

Many enough to drown in. But not enough for a lifetime.

I can't remember my favorite color. The name of the hamster I had as a child. The song I danced to at my senior prom. The names of my best friends growing up. Where I actually traveled after the Autobots left me.

So much is gone.

"I can't remember," I whisper. It's devastating, really. It feels like my eyes should be tearing up, but the suit isn't reacting the way my body would.

Ratchet seems to get it anyway. "I suspected as much. I'm sorry, sparklet." His hand squeezes mine. "I'm going to have to put you in stasis to work on your frame controls. I want to talk to you some more first, though. Are you up for that?"

I nod dumbly. I'm still struggling to take in that I can't remember where my brother was stationed. Or what we used to eat for Christmas dinners.

"Ratchet, why don't I remember?" My voice is faint, almost more of a breath. "How did this happen?"

"Well, that's connected to what I want to talk to you about." He sighs, takes my hand again. "Isobel, there's something you don't know."

I look toward him again, trying to push back the grief of my lost memories again. I can handle that later. "What is it?"

Ratchet, uncharacteristically enough, looks nervous. "I'm not sure I know how to say this, sparklet. So I'm just going to jump right into it. Okay?"

I frown at him. "Ratchet, you're making it sound like I'm dying."

He chuckles, but it's clearly forced. I wonder why he bothers. "No. No, sparklet, you're not. But you were."

And then he tells me. Of the accident they had in space. Of how my chamber nearly became my coffin. Of First Aid never leaving my side, even when I was for all intents and purposes living only in the widest definition of the word. Of how I ended up as some form of Schroedinger's Isobel, both alive and dead at once.

Of why I woke up near Alpha Trion.

Of why my memory's faulty – apparently, some my clearest recollections are the ones collected from the 'Bots and 'Cons sharing their sparks with Alpha Trion to help build mine. I owe a lot of my early memories to the video and files of myself that I gave First Aid. The process wasn't kind on my memories.

I hold up my hand, squeezing my eyes shut, and Ratchet stops mid-word. He's silent as I work my way through the realization. The memories spin in my head.

I remember my doctoral thesis. Most of my training. None of my cases before I came to the Autobots.

So much for being a fully trained psychologist still.

… I'm not even sure I'm _me_ still.

The frame was right, I realize suddenly. I am more Cynosura than Isobel right now.

 _Optical cleansing fluid leakage detected._

Case in point.

I've barely lifted my hands – _my_ hands – to rub the tears away when Ratchet's arms enfold me. He's big, and solid, and warm, and I curl against him gratefully.

Strong, gentle hands stroke over my back, over bumps and seams that are part of my body now. "Shh, sparklet. It'll be okay."

It's comforting that he's still bigger than me. Even if it's not by much.

After what seems like an age, but the little clock in my field of vision tells me was really just seven minutes and forty-five and one seventh of a second, I finally manage to get my breathing under control. It cools me down, and an orange exclamation mark that had appeared on my screen disappears again.

I straighten up and rub at my cheeks. My hands come away shiny. "Ratchet, I'm going to need a crash course in how to be Cybertronian."

"Don't worry." He smiles at me, and it sooths my nerves a bit. "We'll teach you. Now, I'd like for you to be mobile sooner rather than later, so do you mind if I put you under now and check your hip joints? And we'll go over your coding at the same time."

I nod and lie back. "Sure. You do what you have to do. I'll just be sedated or something, right? Like for surgery on Earth?"

"Almost the same thing," he agrees. "Medical stasis. You won't be aware of what's happening, but there'll be no pain when you wake up."

"Sounds good." I close my eyes – optics. "Do your thing."

 _Medical codes recognized. Medical stasis initiated._

* * *

When I wake up next, it feels more familiar. More like it used to. There's not barrage of text in that little box, a lot fewer symbols pulling at my attention. The world doesn't look green anymore, either.

And First Aid is there.

"Hey, Isobel." He's smiling this tired smile, like he's been up for too long.

I frown at him. "You are not allowed to run yourself ragged just waiting for me to wake up."

"It'll be hard to break him of that habit now," Groove's voice says. "He's been hovering over you for a vorn." I turn my head to see him leaning against the wall on the other side of the berth. He's smiling too, calm and easy, like always.

Groove is rock solid. I don't think I've ever appreciated that as much as now.

Wait.

"For a vorn? What is a vorn?"

 _Vorn ≈ 83 years._

Huh. Ratchet's made my screen useful. That helps.

Wait, what?

"Eighty-three years?" My voice climbs through two octaves. "I was out that long?"

"I'm afraid so," First Aid replies. His hand is drawing tiny circles on my forearm. "It took time for your spark to grow."

"That's… I can't wrap my mind around that. That's crazily long." I look straight up at the ceiling. My surprise is probably showing on my face at this point.

"I bet it's difficult to wrap your mind around the entire situation." Groove's hand strokes down the arm First Aid isn't touching. "What can we do to help?"

"I have no idea." I look between the two of them. "I've never had to adjust to getting a new body before." I look down at the body in question. It's mostly concealed by a blanket, but I can see the general shape of it. It doesn't tell me anything more than I already knew – I have two legs and am vaguely human-shaped. "I don't even know what it looks like."

"Well, we can remedy that, at least." Groove looks at his brother, a grin on his bright face. "There's a full-length mirror in the wash racks, isn't there?"

First Aid's grin mirrors his brother's. They're suddenly eerily similar, despite the fairly different color schemes. "What do you say, love? Want to look over our handiwork?"

I take hold of their arms and pull myself up into a seated position. "Why not? I have to see what kind of creative liberties you've taken."

With the help of both of them, I manage to find my feet. I'm a lot more steady than last time. It's a relief to be able to walk on my own.

"Ratchet found the problem," First Aid explains as I shuffle in the direction they point me. "There was an error in the impulse reader that was connected to your pelvic assembly. It basically told your processor that your hip was out of alignment."

"Oh, well, we can't have that," I agree, as if I know what he's talking about. "Now let go of me for a moment, mechs. Give a femme a chance to test her legs, okay?"

Groove laughs and kisses my cheek. That feels like it used to as well, despite the fact that he seems to be dodging some kind of protrusions on my helmet. "You're going to be awesome, Belle."

"Are you ever going to stop calling me that?" I try to be serious, but it's a lot harder than I thought it would be, and my cheek is kind of tingling where he kissed it.

"No," he replies, and his tone's suddenly soft. Instead of letting me go, he cradles my face. "You're beautiful, Belle. Inside and out. So as long as you let me, I'm going to keep saying it."

His optics are gold behind their glass visors. They pull me in, closer to this mech who is so like his brother yet not, this mech who's such a source of strength to the both of us when we need it, who's always been there for me.

I don't plan to kiss him. But I'm not surprised when I do anyway. And Groove just pulls me closer, deepening the kiss until I'm completely lost in him and have to hold on to him to stay upright.

"Well, now you're making me jealous," First Aid says lightly behind me. "I want a kiss too."

I break it off and turn in Groove's grip. "Come here, then. Your brother isn't letting me go."

Groove smiles against my throat, finding an area that's so much more sensitive than I ever thought metal could be. "Damn right I'm not. Aid, you're going to have to share."

"I thought we'd already agreed on that." First Aid smiles broadly as he steps into my arms, and I marvel at how I can actually embrace him in this form. "I am a bit offended that you stole the first kiss, though. After all, she was mine first."

"Are you two going to be bickering over me like I'm a new toy constantly?" I tease. "Maybe I'd be better off staying with Optimus and Ratchet again?"

"Don't you dare," Groove hums, and the feeling of those words against my sensitive neck has my knees buckling. "You're ours."

"We'll behave." First Aid is practically crooning. "But we've also missed you. Constantly. So you, my love, had better get used to fending us off with a big stick if you want us to stay away." His nose bumps mine, traces across my cheek like he's drawing in my scent. His hands rest on my hip, thumbs stroking the upper edge of part of my leg plating – and it's still so weird that I have that – and sending tiny electric impulses into my frame. I tingle all over, feeling warmer and warmer.

"Good thing I don't plan to let you get out of my sight then," I murmur, chasing First Aid's mouth. "Maybe I should get leashes instead of a big stick."

Groove's engine revs sharply behind me, and the vibrations go through my stomach and down into my groin. I don't get the chance to think about what that means, because First Aid chooses that moment to finally kiss me.

If I weren't sandwiched tightly between them, I would seriously be on the ground.

Kissing is much the same in this form as it was when I was human. The fact that his lips still feel soft throws me a bit, but I'm not too surprised by it. I remember Ironhide and Chromia, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, Blades and Slingshot. Among others.

There are two sets of hands moving over my body, teasing and stroking, and I'm warming up under their touches. That little orange exclamation mark is back, changing to red as I look at it. Then something turns on in me, some form of fan pulling cooler air into my systems, and it flickers back to orange.

Right. I'm a machine now. I'm apparently air-cooled.

I don't get as much time to consider that as I probably need to, because First Aid's mouth leaves mine to move down to my throat, teasing and licking like Groove was doing earlier.

"Ratchet just commed me," he says calmly, conversationally, like this is a normal situation and not me being teased and touched into submission. "He says there will be no fragging in his medical center, thank you very much, but since we've already driven her this far we have his permission to go for a tactile overload. It won't do her any harm."

Groove chuckles against the side of my head. "Arrogant fragger. Like we need his permission."

I moan at the sensation. Who knew my ears were erogenous in this form? Or whatever I have that passes for ears.

"We do need hers, though," First Aid counters. "This is new to her, too. She's probably hypersensitive everywhere."

"If you two don't stop talking over my head," I threaten breathlessly, "I'm going to leave, and you can touch each other instead."

First Aid laughs, lifting his head and looking at me. "Noted. Isobel, do we have your permission to drive you insensate with pleasure?"

Groove punctuates the question with small nips to my throat.

"Just don't let me fall," I gasp, leaning back into the touches.

"Never." First Aid's voice is almost a growl. "Never letting you fall. Never letting you go."

Then he kisses me fiercely, as Groove presses against my back, and two sets of hands are touching me, two engines vibrating against me, and it's all I can do to hold on. I can feel something rise in me, burning and boiling until I'm trembling with it, and all it takes is Groove breathing hot air over my ear to let it swallow me.

I surface a little while later, still overly warm, still stuck between my two Protectobots. First Aid is grinning at me. "Was that okay?"

"That was amazing," I admit, because it was. "What was it?"

"That, my dearest Belle, was an overload," Groove replies, kissing my cheek. "Achieved through tactical stimulation of your frame."

I shake my head. "I think I need a dictionary."

"Later," First Aid promises. "Now, I believe we were planning to find a mirror." He steps back with clear reluctance and takes my hand.

"Please." I step away from Groove, taking his hand as well. "You have no idea how disorienting it is to not even know what I look like."

My balance and movement really is much better. I even feel looser and more relaxed than I did when they pulled me out of bed. Maybe it's the overload's fault. I guess I have to ask First Aid about that.

 _Overload: a reset of circuit breakers in the frame, often resetting minor systems as well. Effect is beneficial,_

 _as it can clear back-up queues and contribute to an increased sense of well-being._

Or I guess I can just ask that little square.

Regardless of the reason, I feel better than I have since I woke up in this body. I'm almost prancing as we turn the corner to find what's probably the right door. At least it opens easily in front of us, revealing a large room with a rubbered floor and several showerheads.

"The wash racks," First Aid announces grandly. "Mirror is this way."

I follow him around the corner and come to a dead stop.

The mirror covers the entire end wall. I can't imagine what they'd need such a massive reflective surface for. There are small tables and shelves and stuff on the walls surrounding it, but I don't really notice what they're for.

I can't see anything but the strange bot in the mirror.

It's clearly a femme. She's got the same curves as Arcee and Chromia does – the narrower waist, the slimmer and smoother thighs. Still, she doesn't look like either of them.

She's white. Not Wheeljack's bright white, more of a mother-of-pearl finish, with a subtle gleam. Her pelvis is emerald green, like her optics and the gentle slope of her shoulders and upper chest. There are gold lines edging the green.

"Green optics." I look at First Aid questioningly. "Why green? No one has green?"

"Wheeljack matched them to your spark," he explains. One of his hands is rubbing my arm, as if he means to soothe or comfort.

I stare. In the mirror, the optics brighten. "I have a green spark?" Then I shake my head. "Never mind. At least it explains why everything had a green tint at first."

First Aid nods. "Ratchet recalibrated your visual center, and adjusted the setting of your visor. It cancels out the tint."

I have no idea what that means. So I go back to examining the bot in the mirror.

Aside from the green optics, the wheels are the most eye-catching.

I'm used to seeing wheels on bots. Wheels on backs, wheels on shoulders, wheels along legs. But I've never seen metal-encased wheels like these before.

She has strange, white wheels on the outside of her knee joints. They look like they're two halves of a whole, meant to connect together when she transforms. The whole structure is as bright white as the rest of her plating. There are matching wheels on her shoulder, bright white metal shapes, and from the center of each one a long metal blade curves backwards.

One of them's dented. I guess that was what I knocked into the berth earlier.

The face, though. Silver, with delicate features, wide optics behind a clear visor, and a shapely mouth.

She looks like me. Only prettier.

The white helm is more slender and rounded than Chromia's. There are a pair of slim vents alongside each cheek, kind of like Mirage's but even narrower, and these sweeping, long metal strips rising up on either side of her helm.

"Holy crap," I breathe. "I really am Cynosura."

Groove steps up behind me, putting white hands on my green hips. "It's based around the Cynosura design. Mirage did the actual painting, he decided to add the highlights."

I twirl, turn my head to look at myself from different angles. Aside from the wheels and fins sticking out of them, there isn't a lot of kibble. I can't figure out what I'm supposed to be.

I run my right hand across my left shoulder wheel. "I have an alt mode?"

First Aid steps closer and nods. "Most gorgeous three-wheeler I've ever seen."

"Three-wheeler?" I frown in confusion. "Like a tricycle? And don't I have four wheels?" I twist my leg, look at those strange half-wheels again.

Groove chuckles. "Not a tricycle, Belle. Your back wheel's a split wheel, down there by your knee joints." His hand follows mine as it traces the shoulder wheel. "These are you front wheels on your shoulders, and they also operate like two halves of a hole. It would be more precise to say that you're a two-wheeler whose front wheel is actually two wheels operating independently. And these are handlebars, one side connected to one wheel." He teases across the bladelike fin, making me shiver.

I turn again, looking at the slim handlebars. They make little sense in this configuration. "Can I see? Transform?"

"I'd love to show you, love," First Aid says regretfully, "because your alt mode is beautiful. But transforming is a fairly complex maneuver. We'd like for you to have control over simpler things and know how to find simple commands in your coding and navigate your own HUD before you try that."

I nod. "That's fair. Is there a picture or something, though?"

Groove nuzzles the back of my helm. "Hound can show you next time he comes by." I get the feeling that that's a promise, and that Groove will send Hound to see me sooner rather than later. He kisses the slim blade of metal on the side of my head, sending shivers down my spine. If I have a spine.

Those things are apparently really, _really_ sensitive.

"Unless you want to do the overload thing to me again, you'd better stay away from those," I warn him.

Groove grins, and it looks decidedly naughty. "Oh, I wouldn't mind doing that again."

"Another time," First Aid says firmly, with a stern glance at his brother. His hand moves, and I feel a tingle running through my frame as he scans me. "You need to refuel and recharge, Isobel. We should get you back to the berth."

I pout. It looks more attractive than it should. "How long do I have to stay here?"

"In the medical center?" Groove chortles. "Ratchet will release you when he sees fit."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of." I reach out, take one white hand in each of mine. Pull my mechs closer to me. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"I can't." Groove kisses my cheek again. He seems to like that. "I have a shift tonight. But Aid is staying. Right next to you on the berth, I'll bet."

First Aid looks smug. "Ratchet won't stop me."

All of a sudden I'm dead tired. It's like my mind has had pretty much all it could take of this, and now it doesn't want to operate anymore. In the mirror, I can see those green optics dimming even as I watch.

"Okay," I agree, and I can hear that I sound half asleep already. "Back to berth."

If it weren't for the pair of them supporting me, I would have fallen asleep right there in the wash rack and just stayed there. Instead, I'm shuffled along, guided back towards the berth. I watch with bleary optics, leaning on Groove, as First Aid's expert touch turns the thing from a single to a double.

Cool.

"Come on, love," First Aid says, and Groove simply scoops me up and deposits me on the soft surface. He kisses my helm as First Aid crawls in next to me.

"Good night, Belle. Night, Aid. I'll see you two tomorrow." Groove winks and kisses First Aid's cheek as well. "Pleasant recharge." Then he walks out.

I curl up against First Aid's warm frame. It feels divine. "Your brother likes kissing people."

"Groove is very affectionate." There's fondness in his voice. "And he really cares for you."

"I really like him, too." I yawn widely, and First Aid looks at me like I've done something really cute.

"You know you don't have to do that in this form."

"Don't care." I lean my head against his chest. "Felt right."

His chuckle rumbles against my ear fin thing. It tickles.

"Everything's so different," I mumble. "I don't know how I'll ever get used to it."

"You'll be fine. You always are, love. This won't stop you."

Even though my mind is a muddle and my frame is half asleep, I still can't stop thinking. So much is different from what I expected that I don't have the faintest idea what's going to happen anymore. Or how I will react to anything.

"Am I still what you want?" The words slip out before I even have the chance to notice I'm thinking them. But I'm not surprised at how heart-felt they are, or how nervous I am to hear his answer. So little of me remains that I don't know who I am anymore, so how can I expect them to want me like they did before?

First Aid twists and looks down at me. "Of course you are, love." He reaches out to pull me close. "I know you feel like you've lost a part of yourself right now. But missing memories doesn't change who you are, Isobel. You're still you."

"I don't feel like me. I've forgotten so much." I frown. "Though for some reason, I remember my thesis word for word."

First Aid chuckles. "That's my fault. I may have read everything you've ever published back before we left Earth the first time. I've downloaded the texts into your memory." He kisses my head. "I'm sorry."

I manage to force my optics to stay online for a bit longer. "Don't be. That actually helps. At least I won't be useless."

"You wouldn't have been useless even if you'd forgotten every single thing you ever learned about psychology." First Aid's voice is soft but insistent, before turning apologetic. "I also have a confession to make. I scanned your diaries and downloaded those to your memory as well. I know they weren't for me to read, but I thought you might want them."

"My diaries?" I'm confused now. Probably more confused than necessary, considering how tired I am. "Then why can't I remember those?"

"Because they're scanned as images. But you can sit down and read them again if you want. It might help with your lost memories."

The last twenty plus years of my life are in those diaries. I've kept them since I graduated from high school, more or less continuously.

I exhale in relief. My past isn't lost. It's still there, in my head. I just have to find it.

"First Aid, I love you." I snuggle close and finally let my optics dim completely.

The soft chuckle I get in return vibrates pleasantly through my plating. "And I love you. Now sleep, love. We can handle everything else tomorrow."

It's not a hard command to obey. Not warm and comfortable in his arms as I am.

"G'night, Aid."

"Night, Isobel."

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Here we go! I'm excited about this._

 _This is just the first chapter. I don't have a set posting schedule for this, and the only thing I know about chapter two's posting at this point is that I'll try to have it out by the end of the year. In the mean time, I'll be working on a bunch of little WIPs as well trying to write as much as possible of this before I begin scheduled posting. So keep an eye out!_

 _Cynosura's alt mode is the Kawasaki J Concept Threewheeled motorcycle. Look it up, it's absolutely gorgeous._

 _And! If any of you would like to try drawing her as she is now, I would be absolutely thrilled. I can barely draw a straight line, so I would love your interpretations!_

 _Till next time!_


	2. A brand new day

_A/N: Finally! The sequel begins for real. Thanks so much for your patience, dear readers. I hope it's worth the wait :D_

 _I aim to update this story about once a month. May be faster if I feel like it and manage to._

 _Merry Christmas, dear readers! I hope you have an awesome holiday season!_

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I. Am. So. Bored._

 _I'm still stuck in medbay. Ratchet won't let me go until he's satisfied that I'm in the best possible shape. At this point, he's triple-checked my coding twice, once with the help of Perceptor, and he's run so many diagnostic tools on me that I've started to make up pet names for them._

 _My favorite is the Evil Green Gadget of Doom._

 _At least I can keep a diary again. Perceptor brought me this iPad-looking thing he called a datapad and a stylus I can use. So I write on it just like it was paper, and it saves._

 _It's actually familiar technology. I could do much the same on Earth a hundred years ago._

 _On Earth a hundred years ago._

 _I still can't believe I'm on an alien planet and have been out of it for a century. It probably would have helped if I could see it, see that I'm on Cybertron and not on Earth – but the one time I've been outside since I woke up was when they brought me from Alpha Trion's cave to this med center, and I was effectively blind then. And now my room doesn't have a window, and I can't even go outside, because Ratchet's sitting on me all the time. Good thing my metal plating can take it._

 _Still, I want to get out of here. I get why Ratchet's doing this, I'm fairly unprecedented, but I need to get out. I can't help anyone from in here, and I can't learn anything either._

 _Groove and First Aid are here as often as they can, but they can't be here all the time. Aside from Perceptor, I haven't seen anyone else. And that's a bit grating, too._

 _I mean, Sunstreaker's out there, needing me. I want to see my friends – talk to Bluestreak and Bumblebee and Mirage, Skyfire, Eject and Laserbeak and Jazz and Prowl and Arcee and Rewind. All of them._

 _I want to help the ones I was brought here to help._

 _And I want to have less bloody time to wallow to myself over the fact that everyone I knew on Earth, everyone, is dead and gone._

 _Lennox is dead. Unless people have figured out how to live comfortably past hundred and five or so._

 _Parker is dead. So is Alice. So is Catherine, and mrs. Stepanyan. They're all gone._

 _And I hate that I didn't get to see Alice's son grow up. I hate that I don't know how Earth is doing. And I really, really hate that I can never tell them what happened to me._

 _I feel like I've been displaced, somehow, dragged from the space in the universe where I thought I fit and into a new existence. It's really hard to handle._

 _I've got to get Ratchet to let me out of here._

* * *

Getting Ratchet to let me go turns out to be easier said than done. Because I still can't find my coding for everything, he says. I still can't find the manual release button for my diagnostic ports most of the time, I still don't understand my own frame readings – what I can see of them, anyway. I still have issues with my fueling, and I still haven't transformed.

Ratchet is such a mother hen.

So I'm practicing by doing laps in my room. Back and forth between the wall and my berth. I've gotten unsteady on my feet again, which is annoying. I'm also doing exercises to test my mobility, which I don't seem to have, and my flexibility, which is also abysmal. At least I know to try those from the safety of my own berth, so I'm at less risk of hurting myself when I do inevitably fall over.

I'm standing up again, in the middle of trying to touch my own neck without whacking myself with my shoulder blades, when the door opens.

"Hey, Earthling! Can I come in?"

I grin at Smokescreen. "Please do! I'm so bored I'm about to see if I can eat my berth."

"Hah! I wouldn't recommend that." Smokescreen saunters into my room. "We're not really created to ingest solid metal. Though I commend your creativity." He stops in front of me and looks me up and down. "Wow. I mean, I saw the frame before it was you, but it looks even better with you in it."

"Thanks! I'm still getting used to it, but it feels good so far." I dump back on the berth. My new body has the stamina of someone who's spent eight months on bed rest for pneumonia or something. Which isn't too far from the truth. "It's good to see you."

"You too," he replies with real feeling. "It's really great to get that image of you stuck in stasis and bleeding out of my processor. And it's good to see you up on your pedes."

"Yeah, I feel better. I still have a ways to go, but I feel better." I shrug, which is an interesting movement with all my new kibble. My handlebars dip behind me. "I need to get used to myself."

"Ratchet is keeping you here, isn't he," Smokescreen guessed.

I nod. "Yeah. He says he can't risk letting me leave yet. Since I'm such a unique case and all. Though I do have problems seeing how just letting me walk around the building would be enough to bring me into mortal danger."

Smokescreen frowns. "Hasn't anyone told you? This building stands on an unstable pile of rubble. There's no walking around it. Even running into the wall too fast can cause the whole thing to collapse."

I must have looked seriously incredulous, because in the next moment he's laughing at me. Hard. "Nah, I'm just kidding with you, Cynosura. We're smack dab in the middle of the rebuilt part of Iacon. There is an apartment building to the left of us, a park to the right, and a vacant lot behind us slated for construction sometime in the next vorn. It's all as safe as can be."

"You utter slagger," I grumble, but I'm laughing. It really is good to see him. "An apartment building, huh? Who lives there?"

"Hoist and Grapple do," Smokescreen replies. "Reflector, I think, and Huffer. Windcharger. A few Neutrals."

That catches my attention. "Neutrals?"

He smiles. "Yeah, we have Neutrals now. They keep coming back. Turns out there were small settlements on remote planets and asteroids here and there throughout the universe, and now they're all coming home. The population has tripled since peace happened."

"That's good." It's really good. There's hope for them – for us – yet.

"Hey, do you want to see the park?" Smokescreen offers me a hand.

"I would love to," I reply, letting him pull me to my feet – pedes. "But Ratchet won't let me outside."

"Leave the Hatchet to me," he replies with a grin. Then there's a ping in my head.

 _Accept incoming comm Y/N_

I choose Y. It's one of the first times I've done that since I woke up.

::Hey, Ratchet,:: Smokescreen says in my head. ::I'm taking Isobel to the park next door. She's clear for that, right?::

::She's not clear for anything,:: Ratchet grouses back. ::She's staying here.::

::You're going to keep her in that room?:: Smokescreen sounds surprised. ::I thought you wanted her to exert her tensile cables? She can't really do that in here, can she? Oh, unless you're doing intense physical therapy with her?:: He flashes me a grin. ::Sorry, I guess that's what you're doing, isn't it? I'll butt out, then. Though I'm surprised you have time for that, considering all those maintenance checks you were complaining about.::

There's an ominous silence on the comm channel, and then Ratchet groans. ::Fine. I can tell you're plotting something, but you're right, slag you. I don't have the time to do physical therapy on her when she's capable of moving on her own. But if you take her out of the park,:: and here his voice turns threatening, ::you will be slowly dismantled.::

::Understood.:: Smokescreen winks at me, one optic dimming. ::I'll get her some energon, and we'll sit outside and refuel. I'll make sure she's okay.::

::You'd better,:: Ratchet replies sharply. ::I'm pretty much entrusting my sparklet to you here, Smokescreen.::

Smokescreen softens. I can see it.

So do I, for that matter. His sparklet, he said.

::Roger that. Smokescreen out.::

The comm line closes.

I look up at Smokescreen. "Just like that."

"Just like that," he confirms with a smile. "What do you say, girl? Want to go outside?"

"Please," I reply fervently. "Lead the way."

I do take the offer to lean against his arm, though. Considering my legs are doing their best to make me fall over.

I'm especially glad of the support when we turn away from the wash racks and I see the ramp that slopes downstairs.

Because of course it's a ramp. That makes a lot more sense than a staircase would.

It's no less scary though.

"Now, if you could transform, we could coast down there," Smokescreen muses. "But I think Ratchet really would take me apart if I started you off with that. So we'll just walk slowly down, okay? It's just a few floors."

"Right. Just a few floors." Still, I feel like I'm about to skateboard down the edge of Grand Canyon. "Don't let go of me, okay?"

"Don't worry." He flashes me a grin. "I have no desire to end up on that many hit lists."

I have to laugh. "They're kind of defensive of me, aren't they."

"That they are. You heard Ratchet." He pats my arm. "Now stop procrastinating. It's just a ramp."

I let him lead me, and surprisingly, it's manageable. The ramp has clearly been designed with both bipedal and wheeled bots in mind – it slopes gently, and there's some form of coating on the surface of it to give better grip. I barely need Smokescreen's help.

When we get down, I see daylight for the first time in what seems like years. It's flowing in through the transparent doors in the front of the building, illuminating the soft angles and warm metal colors around me.

It's like a balm. I can't not smile.

There's a bot sitting behind a desk near the front doors. She's lithe and green and smiling at me. "Hello, Cynosura. I'm Greenlight. It's good to see you out and about!"

"Thanks! It's nice to meet you." I smile back. It hadn't really occurred to me that I'll be meeting bots I don't already know here. It should have been obvious, though, since they've had eighty-three years to bring people back, and I've been out of it for most of that time.

"I'm taking her outside," Smokescreen says. He leads me to the desk, letting me lean on it. "Wait here, I'm just going to get us some fuel."

"Yes, Ratchet told me." She frowns slightly at Smokescreen, but it's not an angry expression – if anything, it reminds me of how Catherine would frown at me when I'd been overexerting myself. "Don't push him, Smokescreen. He's only got her best interest in mind."

"Not discussing that with you," he replies in a sing-song voice. "Wait right there, pretty!"

As he vanishes around a corner, I turn my focus back to Greenlight. It's the perfect opportunity to ask questions and get some more information about this world I've woken up on, but suddenly I can't think of anything to say. Luckily, she takes mercy on me.

"So how're you liking your frame so far?"

I look down at myself. "I don't really have much basis for comparison, but it's good. I'm still not used to it though – I keep trying to bend in ways I just don't bend anymore, stuff like that."

"I can understand that." She leans forward, and there's this eager look on her face I've only even seen on Wheeljack before. "You were organic, right? How did that work? I've read all that's available about Earth and its denizens, but with all the focus on rebuilding and integration there hasn't been much time for anyone to write papers. I'm still waiting for Skyfire's book, he's been finishing it for ages. And there are so many things I'd like to know!"

I grin. This, at least, is easy. "Well, I'd be happy to answer questions, if I can. I did live there for half a human lifetime."

Greenlight launches into her questions, and for a moment, all I can do is gape. She wants to know everything, from how hurricanes work to scientific advancements in prosthetics to fetal development to the resilience of the eco-system. But there is one question there that catches my attention.

"I really don't know how it differs," I have to admit, and I just know I'm blushing. "I can tell you about human reproduction and sexuality, but I don't – I haven't…" I stop, take a deep breath. In-vent. Whatever. "I haven't learned that much about Cybertronians yet. I can't really run a comparison."

Luckily for my dignity, Greenlight just nods. "I can understand that. That's not really a top priority when you're getting used to a new frame. I'm also mainly asking because I'm curious." She flashes me a smile.

I realize suddenly that I know the perfect bot for this. "You know who you should ask? You should talk to Bumblebee."

"You think I could?" She sounds hopeful.

I shrug. "I don't know what anyone's doing these days, but I can't see why you couldn't. Bee had the most specialized holoform of all the Earth Autobots, so he should be able to tell you some things."

Smokescreen comes back then, saving me from any further embarrassing questions. He grins and offers me his arm. "Shall we, my lady?"

"We shall." I take the offered arm, giggling at the attempt at human chivalry. "Lead the way, sir."

The doors open automatically when we approach, and Smokescreen leads me outside.

For a moment, I almost think I'm blinded again. Then my visor darkens slightly, a helpful little text in the corner of my HUD informing me that my optics have now been sufficiently shielded, and I'm finally free to look at my new homeworld.

I remember the cityscapes in my Cybertron 101. The planet was beautiful back then, and it still is. But the difference from that to this is like night and day. It's like comparing the majesty of Colosseum to the smallish stone farmhouses I saw on Inishmore. Just a lot more – new.

"It's so… shiny."

Smokescreen chuckles. "Yeah, this is all fairly recent construction. We're only building what we can maintain, only restoring what we need. I think this block is about half a vorn old." He looks around. "That's also why it's not very elaborate, and why Grapple complains a lot. There's no art to these buildings, he says."

I'm shaking my head before he's even done talking. "That's not true. It's just a different style." Different, and to me, achingly, hauntingly familiar.

The buildings are octagonal, and the windows are wider. But aside from that, I feel like I've seen the like in every city I've ever been in. The facades of metal and glass reflect the sunlight down on the wide roads below.

"He can't complain about the roads though." Carefully, I slide my foot along the even surface. "They're awesome."

Smokescreen laughs. "Those are kind of critical to us, so of course we build them well." He smiles down at me. "You like it?"

"I do like it," I agree. "But I have a feeling I would have liked it no matter what it looked like. Well, the parts that have been rebuilt, anyway."

"We have to start somewhere." Smokescreen looks at the building opposite us. "And these are solid, permanent, acid-proof roofs over our heads. No one has to stay outside. No one's homeless. We're well on our way to a functional society." He looks at me again with a wink. "Now we just need all our mechs functional. That's where you come in, isn't it?"

"It is." The reminder is enough to drag me out of my staring. I let go of his arm to take a step forward. "So I better figure this new frame of mine out. Which way to the park?"

Smokescreen nods to the right, and I start walking. It's unsteady going, and Smokescreen eyes my legs curiously.

"Isobel… You're actually planning how to move your frame, aren't you? Consciously, I mean?"

I have to think that over. I haven't been thinking too much about what I'm thinking when I try to move. Mainly I've been frustrated with how difficult it is. "Huh. I'm not sure."

"Take a step, tell me what's going through your mind."

I raise my eyebrows at him – or, it feels like I'm raising my eyebrows at him, but I don't have eyebrows. My visor does something, though.

Guess I'll have to practice expressions in front of the mirror.

"Right. Taking a step." I walk forward a few steps before I stop again, giggling. "Huh. You're right. I'm going 'this leg, now that one, this one, that one.'"

He laughs at me. "Yeah, I can tell. Stop that. Your frame works just like your body did, it's not a prosthetic limb you need to learn to use." He taps my forehead, then my chest. "The autonomy is in here. The natural movement is in there. Move. Don't think."

"Fair enough. I'll try."

"Do, or do not," he says loftily. "There is no try."

I giggle so hard I almost fall over. "Oh, mute it."

He's laughing at me, the scoundrel. I just know it.

Somehow, despite Smokescreen's more and more ridiculous advice, I manage to get myself into the park and drop down on the nearest bench. I feel like I should be exhausted, but it's all in my head.

I still lean back against the back of the bench gratefully. "I need to work on my mind. This is so tiring."

"I may have an idea for that," Smokescreen comments, sitting down next to me. "Okay if we try something different next time I come by?"

"If Ratchet lets you come back," I reply dryly. "You haven't fueled me yet."

"Of course he'll let me back. I'm a Mech with a Plan." He hands me an energon cube. "Bottoms up, Cynosura."

I make a face at the energon. I still haven't gotten used to this.

"You're thinking too much about that too," Smokescreen comments. "It's just fuel. Granted, it's bland, and it's definitely not what you're used to, but you're going to have to learn to like it."

I grimace. I don't like learning to like things. I never even learned to like coffee.

Still. I guess I have no choice this time around, not if I want to be a functional Cybertronian.

I do make a mental note to talk to someone about flavors, though. Maybe there's something that doesn't taste quite so… metallic and weird.

Smokescreen brings out a cube for himself, downing it easily. He nods towards the sky. "Better drink up, Cynosura. I think someone's coming to see you."

I follow his look. There's a shape coming steadily closer.

I manage to down my energon in a hurry – to my relief, it doesn't taste quite as bad that way – and get the cube out of the way. Then Laserbeak all but crashes into me, and suddenly I have an armful of affectionate cassette.

"Hey, baby girl," I croon. I can't resist pulling her as close to me as possible. She's so _small_ all of a sudden.

 _Accept incoming comm Y/N_

Y, of course.

::Isobel!::

I smile and nuzzle the very snuggly cassette. "Yeah, Laserbeak. It's so good to see you!"

She giggles. ::You too! I was so scared for you.:: She sits up, looks at me expectantly. ::How do you feel?::

"Like I'm a human stuck inside a robot," I reply truthfully, and Smokescreen snickers at me.

Laserbeak shoots him a stern look and slaps him with one wing. ::No laughing at the newbuild, gambler.::

"Peace, birdbot," he chortles, raising his hands defensively. "I come in peace."

"It's true, anyway." I shrug. "I don't know how I work. I mean, I wasn't a hundred per cent sure how I worked when I was human either, but at least I had the basic things like moving and eating and stuff down then. And thinking."

She cants her head. It's adorable. ::You have problems with your priority trees?::

I stare at her dumbly. "My what now?"

::Your priority trees,:: Laserbeak replies patiently. ::How you prioritize action and movement, how your frame decides what to proceed with at any given point in time.::

"Um." I haven't the foggiest idea what she's talking about. "What do they look like?"

A small panel opens on the side of her neck, revealing a cable and plug not unlike the one Ratchet has been using to connect to me. ::Let me connect?::

It takes me a few tries, but I finally manage to dig out the command to open the matching panel on my arm. It's the first time I've actually managed, and I just know that it shows on my metal face how ridiculously proud I suddenly am of myself.

It must be showing, because Smokescreen's laughing at me again.

Worryingly enough, so is Laserbeak. She's giggling at me over the comm line.

::Let me in?::

That surprises me. I thought I already had.

::I'm pinging you, silly. You need to lower your firewalls and let me in.::

"Um. How?"

They both just stare at me.

::Can you feel this?:: Laserbeak's almost scarily focused on me.

I try to feel what's going on inside my head. All it does is make my plating crawl. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to feel."

Laserbeak sighs and disconnects. ::We need to work on your operating system. You need to be taught, not just left alone. As it is, you're a danger to yourself. Can you even recognize the signals your own HUD is showing you?::

I know what my HUD is, at least. It's the screen that keeps throwing messages at me. Or it did until Ratchet turned it off, anyway. "Right now, it's not showing me anything."

I get the distinct feeling that Laserbeak is frowning. ::That can't be right. There should be a constant monitoring of your system on there. Temperature gauges, fuel levels, that lot. And you should be getting notifications of foreign connections and system handshakes. You really can't see anything?::

I shrug. "Not much. I got to accept your comm. But right now…"

I wish I could draw it for her. But I left my datapad in my room, since Ratchet hasn't shown me how to use my subspace yet. If I have one.

Guess Laserbeak'll have to use her imagination.

"Here," I say, drawing a square in the air over the bench. "I can see this frame, right? And in the corner of it there's another box. That's where all the prompts and information pops up. Right now I'm not being notified of anything."

Laserbeak stares at me. ::We need to go talk to Ratchet.::

* * *

Ratchet, predictably, isn't amused.

"Of course her systems are causing problems again," he spits out as he sits me back down on my berth. "It would be too much to expect everything to operate flawlessly, wouldn't it?"

The sarcasm is positively dripping.

At least I managed to open the panel over the port in my arm myself again. Ratchet gives me a satisfied nod.

::But her HUD seems to be offline completely,:: Laserbeak interjects. ::It should be functional, Ratchet.::

"Let me look. And then we'll see what's going on."

I let Ratchet plug in without any fuss. His touch is familiar. So's the faint crawling over my frame at what feels like a foreign touch on my mind.

It takes Ratchet a couple of minutes, and then he sighs. "You're right, kid. Her HUD's gone into some form of minimum operational mode. I tried to dial back the autonomy, but it seems to have overreacted somehow." He drags a hand across his face and looks at me with this guilty look in his optics. "I'm sorry, sparklet."

I can't bear that. Not Ratchet looking like that. "Not your fault, Ratchet."

::She needs to be taught,:: Laserbeak insists. ::Or she won't be able to handle herself.::

"Of course she needs to be taught," Ratchet snaps. "Do you have any idea how time-consuming that's going to be, though? It's taken me the better part of a week to get her to where she can open her own diagnostic port!"

I flinch. I know, intellectually, that he doesn't mean that I'm slow, or a burden. I do know that.

It's still uncomfortable to hear, though.

"Ratchet." Smokescreen's tone is scolding. "This isn't Isobel's fault."

"I know it's not! I know! Slag." He sighs, rubs his optics. "I know. But it doesn't change the fact that teaching you, sparklet, takes time. Time I don't have, in between all the system flushes and coding updates and fragging Neutrals showing up who haven't seen a medic since the war started and don't trust any of us to do what's right."

I reach out for his free hand. "I'm sorry, Ratchet. I don't mean to stress you. But Laserbeak's right. I need to learn about myself if I'm going to be any good to anyone. If you don't have the time to teach me, maybe there's someone else who can? I mean, you probably don't have to be a medic to show me what the temperature controls and such mean, right? I bet even Fireflight could show me."

"It doesn't have to be a medic, no," he allows. "But everyone's harried, Isobel, everyone's busy."

"Smokescreen found time to see me," I point out. "Laserbeak did, too. And if enough mecha could take ten minutes or so every once in a while, I would be busy almost full-time."

"It would help to get her out of here, too," Smokescreen points out. "She needs to move, to feel like her frame is natural, to learn who she is now. She can't do that in here."

"No." And now Ratchet is firm. "I'm not letting you go off on your own, Isobel. Not with your frame and systems acting up like that. You need to be monitored."

"Then let me be monitored by an actual person," I plead, suddenly desperate for this possibility that Smokescreen's dangled in front of me. "Heck, I've been an Autobot parcel before. Just pass me between mecha that have time and room and inclination."

"There aren't many that can fit you in," Ratchet says, but it seems like he may be on his way to surrendering. "Jazz and Prowl are both working long days integrating the government and handling the Neutrals. Anyone with a smidgeon of medical training is here, and we're all working double shifts. Wheeljack and anyone else with training in engineering and construction are manufacturing parts and buildings and infrastructure, and Perceptor and the scientists are all working on our energon supply. None of us have time to take care of you full-time, sparklet."

"I just need a berth," I argue. "And there were plenty of bots you didn't name. Hound. Mirage. Blurr. Bluestreak. Bumblebee. Blaster."

Now it's Laserbeak shaking her head. ::Blaster and the cassettes are working communication with Soundwave, reconnecting with the Neutrals and monitoring inbound ships. Blurr's balancing his time between his new bar and working as a scout to the outlying regions. So's Hound. Mirage and Bumblebee are both working with the Neutrals, along with some of the Decepticons.::

"And Bluestreak is busy with Skywarp," Smokescreen puts in with a leer. "They're… rehabilitating each other. And it's going rather well, don't you think, Ratchet?"

"I'm not touching that with a planet-wide pole," Ratchet mutters.

There has to be someone. I'm not giving up. "Arcee, then. The Protectobots, or the Aerialbots. Trailbreaker. Sideswipe."

"Sideswipe?" Ratchet scoffs. "He's focused on keeping Sunstreaker stable."

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, then. You know none of them would hurt me."

"No."

Suddenly I'm fed up. Now he's just being contrary for the sake of it.

"Fuck it, Ratchet! Why are you being so difficult!? Would you rather have me stuck in here until I forget how to move at all?" I'm off the berth, pacing back and forth. I can't sit still when I'm this annoyed. "If you don't have time to help me, then bloody well pass me over to someone who do! Don't keep me locked up here like a – like an invalid! Pit, I bet even Starscream has more freedom than me at this point, and based on what you've told me, he doesn't even know where he is anymore!"

Ratchet is gaping at me. I've never taken him to task before.

Smokescreen is grinning, though. When he sees me staring at him, he looks pointedly down at my legs. My pacing, easily moving legs.

I promptly stumble.

"That's what I mean," Smokescreen says as he helps me back up. "She needs to move, Ratchet. Not be stuck to a berth in here." He turns slightly so Ratchet can't see his face and winks at me. "I can take care of her at least one of the days this week. I have a plan."

::I'll get a few of the other cassettes, and we'll take a day too,:: Laserbeak offers. ::We can work with her HUD, if you just manage to get it to acknowledge incoming handshakes.::

"And I'm sure, between your two lovers and their brothers, there'll be no shortage of people willing to watch you," Smokescreen says. He lets go of my hands and nods appreciatively when I don't sway in place.

Ratchet looks at me again. Then he sighs, heavily, like it's coming all the way from the bottom of his spark. "Fine. Fine. You," he points at me, "will wear a small monitor connected to your systems. I'll put it under your plating so it won't be in the way. It will alert myself and First Aid if something goes wrong. You will be with someone else at all times, even if that means you're stuck on a chair in Prowl's office while he's working, and in those cases you will sit still and not make a fuss, okay?"

"I'm not a child, Ratchet."

"Yes, you are. You might as well be." He exhales heavily again and gestures to the berth. "You're coming home with me, at least for tonight. My shift ends in an hour, and we have a lot to get through in that time. So up you get."

I share a grin with Smokescreen.

"I'll take my leave then," he says, winking at me again and nodding at Laserbeak. "See you tomorrow, Cynosura."

"Definitely. Thanks, Smokescreen."

Laserbeak settles next to me on the berth as Smokescreen leaves. ::Ratchet, may I observe?::

"Sure." Ratchet's grumbling again, but I can tell he's okay. "I'll bring it up on an external monitor, so you can see what you're working with. It'll be useful for you if you're going to be helping out in a few days."

It strikes me, suddenly. How far the peace has come. How much trust has been built. I mean, this is _Ratchet_ , offering intimate access to my systems to one of _Soundwave's_ cassettes.

It's awesome.

I relax and try to make myself comfortable despite the prickling in my systems. I'll be getting out of here tonight.

* * *

"Okay, sparklet, out you get."

I climb out of Ratchet's alt mode, and would have promptly fallen on my face if someone hadn't caught me.

A big, strong, solid, really familiar someone.

"Easy, Isobel." Optimus steadies me, smiling gently. He's still taller than me by quite a lot, but it's not uncomfortable.

It feels safe.

So of course, I don't hesitate to throw my arms around his waist. Smokescreen would be proud of me for keeping my balance through it.

"Hi, Optimus." I lean in against his chest, feel the sheer power and calm exuding from him. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise, brightspark. I've missed you."

"Get her inside," Ratchet says from behind me. "I still have some adjustments to do in her systems before I can let her recharge tonight."

"I thought we weren't supposed to bring our work home with us," Optimus teases gently, but he loosens my grip on him and takes my hand to lead me inside.

Ratchet smirks back at him. "Oh, like you're not guilty of the same thing. Besides, I think there should be an exemption from the rule when the work in question is an actual living Cybertronian/human hybrid."

There's something about the way they act together that's tickling something in my mind. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, though.

And I quickly forget about it as Optimus leads me into their home.

With him being the Prime, I'd half expected a palace. Where Optimus would only grudgingly reside, of course, insisting on only using one wing of it and that the massive opulent furniture was too much for him. But instead it's a townhouse, modest by any standard, in a row of similar houses. The décor inside is nothing more than could be expected from Optimus and Ratchet either – a few pieces of art on the walls, a large comfy-looking sofa, the standard clutter you'd get in a house that's actively lived in.

It feels homely.

"Nice digs." I grin up at Optimus. "Very you."

"Thank you. It suits us well."

"Get on the couch already, sparklet," Ratchet demands, the irritable edge in his voice softened by the smile on his face. "I promise it's just a few more subroutines that need tweaking. And then we can all refuel."

"Good." I open the access panel on my arm again. It takes hardly any thought now. "I don't particularly enjoy the feeling of you crawling around in my cortex."

He connects, and my plating crawls, and suddenly my HUD lights up with information.

A _lot_ of information.

 _Fuel level: 37%_

 _Temperature level: green_

 _Fuel pump expediency: within parameters_

 _Motor control: functional_

 _Sensory suite: within parameters_

 _Self-repair diagnostics: pending_

 _Coolant level: optimal_

 _Spark energy containment: optimal_

 _Transformation cog: offline_

 _Virus scan: negative_

 _Subspace overview: list available_

 _Self-repair diagnostics: report ready_

 _Severe repair needed:_

 _Frontal Cortex: Patch SCC1.3X not compatible_

 _Frontal Cortex: Patch SCC1.3Z not compatible_

 _Memory storage: component meltdown detected_

 _Servo control: component meltdown detected_

 _Moderate repair needed:_

 _Communications suite error detected_

 _Sensory suite: visual input error detected_

 _Minor repair needed:_

 _Equilibrium sensor, left, faulty_

 _Equilibrium sensor, right, faulty_

 _Wiring flaw detected:_

 _Left ankle joint_

 _Left knee joint_

 _Left hip joint_

 _Self-repair diagnostic report complete_

 _That's too much._ "Ratchet…!"

"Easy, sparklet," he sooths. "Many of these are old notifications that show up now because I rebooted your HUD. You're not melting down, I promise."

"Melting down?" Optimus sounds concerned, and his solid warmth on my back is reassuring.

"Her processor needed some work after her spark integration," Ratchet explains. "I repaired them the first day, but her diagnostics have been queueing up on her. They need to run their course, then those warnings will disappear." He disconnects from me and leans back. "Now, I want to try something. Isobel, will you let Optimus connect to you? Like Laserbeak tried?"

"Sure." I shrug. "I trust you." I hold out my arm for Optimus to plug into.

"Now, you should see the handshake protocol initiating," Ratchet explains. "Once you accept those, Optimus will be able to see what any non-medic can see of your systems."

I accept the incoming request, happy to actually see it this time, and in the next moment, Optimus is in my mind. He's a warm, solid, caring presence, but having him in there is almost overwhelming. I keep shaking my head to get rid of the intrusion.

Optimus disconnects – he probably feels my discomfort, but he's nice enough to not say anything about it.

"Now, the ports will only really need to be used by a qualified medic or someone you choose to let into your system for whatever reason," Ratchet says. He smirks at me. "I'm leaving most of that education up to First Aid and Groove. I bet they can show you a thing or two."

Optimus chuckles. "They're probably the best mechs for it, yes. Considering the… pleasurable… aspect of system connecting."

He winks at Ratchet, and Ratchet blushes and grins back, and suddenly it hits me. I know where I've seen this kind of behavior before.

"Holy crap," I blurt out. "You two bonded!"

"We did," Optimus confirms, reaching out for Ratchet's hands and pulling him around me into his lap. "Ratchet finally agreed when the war ended."

"And you didn't waste any time," Ratchet accuses, but he's still smiling, and he settles easily on Optimus' lap.

"Why would I? I'd been waiting forever for you." Optimus' arms circle Ratchet's waist, and he pulls him flush against his chest.

I giggle at them. They're so ridiculously adorable. "Sure you want me to stay here tonight? I can call Smokescreen or someone?"

"Stay." Optimus turns to look at me. "It feels right, having you here. You're family, Isobel. It feels like you belong to us."

I lean against his arm. "Thanks, Optimus. For what it's worth, this place feels like home. And you're the closest thing to family I have left." I reach out and poke Ratchet's stomach. "But if you two're going to be sappy and affectionate with each other all night, I demand you teach me how to offline my audials before you go recharge."

Ratchet laughs. It's loud, and careless, and completely different from anything I ever heard from him on Earth. "Oh, don't worry, sparklet," he chortles. "I think we can keep our hands off each other for one night."

"I don't know, dearspark," Optimus muses. "You're pretty irresistible when you're this happy."

I have to rise to the occasion. I have to. So I turn on the couch – slowly, so I don't fall over – and sit sideways, watching them attentively. "Well, if you insist. Get on with the demonstration, then. Fragging 101. But be warned." I pull out my datapad with a flourish. "I will be taking notes."

It's very gratifying, how they both stare at me. Then Ratchet shakes his head wryly and stands up. "I'll get us some fuel. Isobel, do you want to try some different flavors?"

"I'd love to. Some of it has to taste good."

As soon as Ratchet is gone, Optimus puts his arms around me and pulls me close. "Wait until you try the energon jellies. The candies. Mirage can make the most delectable treats, and there's a Neutral called Spinner who makes really good crystal candy."

I lean in against him. "I'll try anything. The plain energon I got at the hospital really wasn't my thing."

Optimus leans down towards me. "I have to agree," he whispers conspiratorially.

I have to giggle at that. They're such a _couple_ about everything.

"You really do feel like family," Optimus murmurs. "It's almost uncanny. Like you belong with us."

"I know!" I twist around in his arms. "I feel like I've been here forever, like I just walked in my own front door. It's weird. It wasn't like this when I – when I was human."

Ratchet comes back, hands me a cube. There's some form of sprinkles in it. "This one is laced with carbon. It should taste a bit familiar to you." He sits down on my other side, hands Optimus his cube. "And I'm not surprised you feel familiar. I can feel it, too. I think it has to do with how your spark was formed. Aside from First Aid, Optimus was probably one of the more critical and present contributors to your spark energy and memories."

"The Matrix demanded it," the Prime says softly.

"You'll probably notice similar connections to Jazz and Prowl," Ratchet continues. "They were down there a lot, too, and their sparks were strong enough to help build up yours."

"Well, whatever the reason is, I like it," I decide. "Makes me feel like I belong here." I taste the energon cautiously. And then take a bigger gulp. "This, I can like. Carbon, you said?"

"Carbon," Ratchet confirms. "I'll make a list for you of other additives you might like, and send it to you. So you know where you should start."

"Thanks."

I drain the rest of my cube slowly, enjoying being nestled between them. It feels safe, comforting, and leaning against Optimus is almost second nature.

It's also nice to know that he's big enough to carry me if I need it. Because I'm totally dozing off in the couch.

And since it's safe here, and warm, and there's a steady, strong pulse in Optimus' chest calling to me, I just relax and let myself fall asleep.


	3. Rediscovering rhythm

_Dear diary,_

 _I'm still staying with Ratchet and Optimus, for all of Ratchet's plans of shifting me around like a parcel. It feels like home here. Plus, Ratchet says that Optimus really enjoys having me here, and he's willing to do anything to make Optimus happy, the sap._

 _Anyway, it's not like I have another place to go right now. The Protectobots are still in shared quarters, in a hangar next to the Aerialbots, and there's no room there for me right now. No privacy either, and much as I love Hot Spot and the others, I don't really fancy spending my time in a bunk in a shared room with five mechs._

 _Groove says he's working on something, though. Says he has a plan that'll let me "move out of my folks' place"._

 _Yeah. He said that._

 _Both Groove and First Aid visit as often as they can. Groove comes by whenever his schedule lets him, which isn't very often, but he's promised that when he gets his plans finalized we'll all be living together. So there's that. And First Aid works nights right now, since Ratchet's on days, which gives him the evenings free to spend with me. Since he's a medic, Ratchet's willing to let him take care of me for a few hours._

 _Ratchet's very bossy._

 _I still have issues with my balance and my systems and – well, everything, really. At least I can read my own HUD now. Laserbeak was here the day after I got to leave hospital, along with Ratbat, Eject and Ravage, and between them they managed to get me up to speed on what the hell everything means._

 _The smug look on Ravage's face when he managed to finally get me to understand my own self-diagnostic system after Eject had tried to make me get it for the last half hour was priceless. Laserbeak helped me save an image capture._

 _My new body comes with an integrated camera. I sense great potential for fun._

 _I've got to wrap this up. Smokescreen is coming by, he says he's found a way for me to work on my body control. I don't know if I should be excited or worried. So I'm going for a bit of both._

* * *

It's not just Smokescreen, though, when I open the door.

"Hey, girl." Blaster grins at me. "Good to see you lookin' good."

I squeal. Loudly. "Blaster! I haven't seen you since I had a pulse!"

"Well, I came to see if you still had a beat!" He winks at me. "Let's get you out of this house, huh?

I manage to shout a goodbye at Optimus before they drag me off. Good thing Ratchet is in recharge, or leaving would take an age. My surrogate parent is not above threatening grievous bodily harm if anything were to befall me, and he's got this long list of things to look out for in me that he tends to recite to anyone 'taking responsibility' for me. It basically adds up to 'if she starts to act weird, get her to the hospital stat and call me', so I figure most of them already can figure that out by themselves.

That doesn't stop Ratchet, though. He doesn't have a great deal of faith in the common sense of most mecha, he says. Not after such a long war. I guess he does have reason to be a little skeptic. Hopefully he'll calm down when I've been functioning for a while.

I'm still not supposed to transform, so Smokescreen takes my arm as we walk. It's not a fast mode of travel, but neither of them complain.

Though I guess we're good, since Blaster's alt mode is completely stationary. He's probably used to walking.

"Where are we going anyway?"

"There's a park around the corner," Smokescreen replies. "With a courtyard."

"Okay." I look up at him. It's slightly comforting to still be shorter than almost all of them. "And we need a courtyard because?"

"You'll see." Blaster chuckles.

God. These mechs can be so aggravating when they want to.

Luckily, it really isn't far. And when we enter the park, there's another surprise waiting for me, lounging up against a garden wall like he belongs there.

"Jazz!"

"Hiya, sweetspark."

His grin's still the same. His _everything_ 's still the same – I can see the temperature gauge on my HUD climbing slightly.

Slagging sex-turned-solid mech.

Still, I hug him. Because he's _Jazz_ , and Ratchet was right about there being a connection between me and him. He feels so familiar now, I half expect one of those pings I didn't understand about unknown familial ties to crop up again.

"It is so good t' see ya, Isobel," he croons. "Ya have no idea how much we missed ya."

Oh, I think I do. Only in my case it was just for a decade, not a whole century. So I hold on a little longer before letting go.

"It's so good to see you too! How've you been? How's Prowl?"

"Workin', as always," he laughs as he pulls back a bit. He keeps a hand on my shoulder. "He's tryin' t' secure a functionin' government, which is just as hard as it sounds. But he told me t' say hi, and that we really want t' see more of ya."

"I'd love to visit at some point," I agree. Prowl has been a steadying force for me ever since I first discovered the Autobots existed. "I'll talk to Ratchet, see what he'll allow, okay? You have my comm link?"

He grins. "I do now."

"I hate to interrupt the reunion," Smokescreen says, doing just that, "but we're on a little bit of a set time frame here."

"You ready, Isobel?" Blaster asks from behind me.

I shrug as I turn around, my shoulder blades dipping. "I don't even know what the heck I'm supposed to be ready _for_."

"For this." Blaster grins easily as he transforms, long limbs and heavy armor twisting and shrinking until there's just a small boombox on the low wall.

I know I'm staring. But Blaster's a big bot. And that's a seriously small music player. Almost human-sized.

"…huh. I'm not a physicist, but that doesn't look like it should be physically possible."

"Impressive, right? Blaster has really fancy mass displacement capabilities. Get Wheeljack to explain it to you at some point." Smokescreen settles against the wall with an easy smile and a pat on Blaster's alt mode. "Hit it, mech."

Then there's music. And _oh_ , I know that music.

It must show on my face, because Jazz chuckles at me. "Between me an' Blaster, we've got every piece of music Earth had t' offer last time we were there. Comes in handy now."

"Now? How so?" I can't imagine Earth music is that great a hit on Cybertron.

"Because then I get t' dance with ya again." Jazz reaches out and takes my hand.

"Oh no you don't," I say sternly, pulling my hand back. "I could barely keep on my feet with you when I was human. I'm not risking it now, when there's always some part of my body that's not listening to me."

"Like I'd take chances with ya," Jazz scoffs. "Ratchet would have my plating for spares. Take it easy, Cynosura. This," he takes my hand again, "is just dancing. Isobel-style."

And so we dance.

It takes me a few minutes to warm up to the idea of dancing as a Cybertronian, in public, where anyone can walk by and see. But hearing the music again is just too much fun, and Jazz's energy truly is infectious, and Blaster must have chosen the songs on purpose, because I can't stand still for long.

Fun's _Some nights_ gives way to Lady Gaga gives way to Gaelic Storm gives way to Flogging Molly gives way to Justin Timberlake gives way to Alan Walker. And then the first chords of _Despacito_ ring out.

"Blaster, you utter slagger."

He just laughs at me, sounding thoroughly unrepentant. "You had some moves on Earth, girl. Figured we'd see if you could recreate them."

"I wanted t' try this too," Jazz confesses, his hips closing on mine and his voice sultry. "It looked way hot when ya danced with th' twins. An' Prowler doesn't do steamy-hot dancin'. So will ya do me th' favor?"

Well, damn. Who can argue against Jazz's hips, anyway? I've certainly never stood a chance.

Like before, the music moves through my frame and grounds itself in my legs, triggering my hips to move. So I let them.

I'm more flexible than I had thought. One of Jazz's hands is on my waist, chaste touch guiding me, his hips flush against mine. His other hand on my cheek, cradling my jaw. My back curves as Jazz dips me, and something shifts in my shoulders to let me lean even further back. For all that it feels intimate, it's much more proper than the routine I did with the twins. And thank goodness for that, because my HUD helpfully informs me we have an audience.

When Jazz's hand trails from my cheek down across my shoulder and torso and over my hips to my leg, sliding down to the back of my knee and hiking my leg up, I dip back far enough to be practically upside down. I have such a sense of déjà vu, I half expect First Aid's holoform to stand there with an inscrutable expression on his face. Instead, there's a very familiar pink bot, canting her head and grinning at me, and an unfamiliar red and orange mech with a flame pattern on his torso.

I squeal, loudly, and bat at Jazz's hands to get him to let me go. He's nice enough to get me upright first, spinning me towards the new arrivals.

"Arcee!" As soon as Jazz lets me go I'm off, throwing myself at her. She's slightly taller than me still and definitely has better balance, so instead of me knocking both of us to the ground she just spins with the movement.

"Hey, Cynosura! Wow, you look amazing!"

I hug her as best I can, taking care not to thwack any part of anyone with my shoulder blades. "It's so good to see you! How have you been?"

"Oh, you know, turning heads and rebuilding society." She grins at me. "Cynosura, meet Hot Rod. He was part of Ultra Magnus' posse. Roddy, this is Cynosura, the one I was talking about."

I smile and hold out my hand. "Hi, Hot Rod. Nice to meet you."

He doesn't shake my hand. Instead, he clasps my forearm. I hurry to do the same. "Hey, Cynns! You looked great out there!"

Cynns?

He releases my arm. His grin is wide and infectious. "Arcee tells me you're an Earthling originally – guess it's a big transition for you, huh? So, what's up with the dancing, anyway? Are you practicing for the club scene or something? Because I've got to tell ya, despite what Blaster and Jazz and Blurr and that one neutral whose designation I can't remember is trying to do, we don't have much of a club scene yet."

 _Cynns?_

"Though if we did, with moves like that, you'd be really popular really fast." He winks. "I liked the music, too. Earth music, right?"

Cynns. _Cynns_.

Fuck.

"It was Smokescreen's idea, actually," I explain, trying desperately to find my footing. It's going to take me a while to get past this one. "I still have issues controlling my frame, and he thought dancing would help."

"It did help," Smokescreen calls from behind me. "You should see yourself, girl. You need to do this more often."

"Is that an offer?" I call back. "Because I have two guys who're likely to get jealous if you keep sneaking me off to dance!"

Jazz's chuckle is almost drowned out by the sound of Blaster's transformation sequence. "We actually have a plan for that," Blaster says. "I'll show you over a cube, you must be low by now."

I can't really argue with that. My fuel levels have been dropping steadily. Dancing's exhausting.

"Hang out with us for a bit?" I look at Arcee and Hot Rod. "I really want to catch up. And get to know you better," I add for Hot Rod's benefit.

I'd really like to find out why he called me Cynns. And preferably get him to stop.

"Sure," she agrees easily. "That's why we came, anyway. Someone owes me a lunch date." She winks at Blaster, and I don't miss Hot Rod's tiny frown.

Well, that could be interesting. I'd better get Arcee to come over for a gossip night soon. It wouldn't hurt any to find out how the Cybertronians are doing socially, either – Optimus and Ratchet are decent enough at explaining the technical and sociopolitical matters, but they're not the most observant of mecha. Arcee should be able to give me a heads-up on most of it, so I'll know what to prepare myself for when I finally get to take up my practice again.

I sit down on the bench and accept the cube Smokescreen hands me. He's sprinkled something in it, I can see the small flakes.

"Nickel," he explains at my curious look. "Gives it a bit of a sharper, more zingy tang. I think you'll like it."

I sip at the liquid carefully. It's not half bad.

"How do you like life as a Cybertronian so far?" Arcee looks at me as she accepts her own cube from Blaster. "I know you weren't prepared to wake up to this."

"Honestly, I like it. I just need to get used to the energon. And being – well, Cynosura." I turn to Blaster. "Speaking of. I never thanked you for the look."

"Not much to thank me for," he replies with a smile. His smile is just like his holoform's. "Rewind had images of the design, and we figured it was easier to use that than make a new one. You looked happy in the video."

"You look really good," Hot Rod pipes in. "Never seen that frametype before."

"Nobody has," Jazz replies. "She's unique." He leans in and kisses my forehead. "I've got t' go, sweetspark. But first, we wanted t' give ya somethin'."

I put my cube down on the bench. "Ooh! A present?"

"Of sorts." Blaster pulls out two tiny metal chits from subspace. "These are for you."

Jazz reaches for one of them and holds it up, showing it to me. "This is a data chip. See th' green stripe? That's an indicator of capacity. This one's small."

"Okay," I nod. It's kind of like an USB drive or something. "So what's on it?"

"That's the real surprise." Blaster smiles at me. "That one's your playlist. It has a few thousand Earth songs on it. You can copy them to your own internal memory, so you always have them with you."

I grin so widely it feels like my face is splitting in half. "That is so awesome! Show me?"

Jazz takes my hand, teasing open a cover I hadn't noticed before. It reveals a slim slot that seems made for this kind of chit. "Ya install it in here, and accept th' transfer." He gives me a sharp look. "Now, ya never want t' be installin' directly from a chit unless ya absolutely trust the source. It's way too easy t' pick up a stray virus or corrupted file or somethin' this way unless ya's careful."

Arcee chuckles. "Careful Jazz, your spec ops is showing."

"Meant it to." It's hard to tell with that visor of his, but I get the feeling he's frowning at her. "War may be over, but it ain't all sunshine and roses yet."

I slide the chit into the slot in my arm. "Got it. Better safe than sorry." The alert pops up on my HUD, and I watch as the files transfer to a new file in my memory drives.

I'm a computer. It's ridiculous, really.

"Now, once they're in there, you can play them any time," Smokescreen explains. "And that was the point of this, actually. It's your movement soundtrack."

I stare at him. "My what now?"

He smirks at me. "Choose a file to play."

The first file I manage to access is the Beatles' _Dear Prudence_. It feels appropriate, somehow. But when I choose play, the music is audible to everyone, not just me.

"What the frag? Where's that coming from?" I stare down at myself, but I can't figure it out.

Arcee giggles. "Stand up, Isobel. Look at your waist."

I look down as much as I can. I'm not that flexible, but at least I don't have the same issues Prowl and Jazz have with seeing their own fronts.

At first I don't know what she's referring to, but then I see it.

I have fricking speakers on my stomach.

Oh, they don't look like Earth speakers. They're slats, sort of, thin narrow gaps in the metal. But that's clearly where the music's coming from.

I laugh. "That is way cool. I'm my own music system."

Blaster laughs at me. "Welcome to the club."

Integrated camera, internal memory banks, integrated speakers… I wonder what's next?

Well, there's the other chip in Blaster's hand, for one. I forgot about that for a moment. "So what's on the other one?"

"This," Blaster says, grinning widely as he holds up the other chip, "is everything else."

I just stare at him. I feel like my eyebrows should be climbing if I had any. "Everything else?"

"Yep." He pops the p. "Everything else. From Abba to Ziggy Stardust, from Albinoni to Zimmer, from ancient lute music to MTV music awards. The lot."

I still don't understand. It apparently shows, too, because Jazz takes mercy on me.

"It's pretty much every piece of music we could download on Earth," he explains. "We could get everythin', so we downloaded everythin'. An' saved it. An' now ya's getting' a copy."

Everything.

I stare at the tiny, flimsy piece of metal. "This holds every piece of music the internet had to offer?"

"Yep. More music than could be listened to in a human lifetime, even if all the humans on Earth right now were listening." Blaster hands me the chip. "Don't plug this into yourself. You don't have near sufficient memory enough to hold it all. If there are any particular songs you want to transfer, put them on a datapad first."

I take the tiny, giant musical catalog with something approaching pure reverence. "This is amazing."

It really is. It's a piece of home, one of the most important pieces, and I can't believe it's all there.

It's all there.

"Kind of a lot to take in, huh?" Arcee says sympathetically. "You haven't lost your culture, Isobel. At least not this part."

Smokescreen leans forward to look at me. "Is this a bad time to say we've done the same thing for popular culture?"

"What?" I know I sound dumb. I feel dumb, right now. My brain isn't computing properly.

"Every TV series. Every movie. Every book and comic available online." He smiles. "Everything you've known and loved, Isobel, safe and sound in Soundwave's databanks."

I burst into tears.

I don't mean to. I'd even forgotten that I could. But this is too much. I can't process it.

I thought I'd lost everything. But somehow, I'm getting it all back.

Strong arms pull me close to a warm chest. I catch glimpses of bright red and orange plating.

"Shh, Cynns," Hot Rod murmurs. "I know you're overwhelmed. But it's okay. It's okay."

"Get her home," Arcee says. I can practically hear the frown. "She needs a break. I know you mean well, but this was too much at once."

Jazz kisses my head again. "I'm sorry, sweetspark. I do need to go. I'll check up on ya later."

Hot Rod pulls me to my feet. His hands cradle my jaw, tilting it so he can look at my face. "Are you going to be okay walking? Or do we need to get a transport here?"

I shake my head and rub the tears away. "No. I can walk." I'm mostly embarrassed, now. "Sorry you had to see that."

He shrugs. "Don't worry about it. Not the first tears I see, probably not the last."

"You okay, Isobel?" Smokescreen at least has the grace to look a bit embarrassed too. "We didn't mean to spring it all on you like that."

"I'm okay." I hook one arm aroung Hot Rod's and the other around Arcee's. "And you are all hereby invited to come back home with me and listen to the prettiest music known to mankind."

I'm still unsteady, despite the dancing session. But I can manage, as long as I have someone to hold on to.

* * *

 _I can't believe how much I've missed some of this music. The pearl fishers duet and the flowers duet. Debussy and Dowland. Beatles and David Bowie and Bob Marley and Frank Sinatra._

 _I'm floating on a cloud right now._

 _Of course, that could also be because I'm exhausted._

 _I played DJ for the others for hours. It was fun to see who liked which songs. Blaster knew most of it, of course, though I managed to surprise him with the Poldark soundtrack. And Arcee, classy girl that she is, liked everything. Ratchet, once he stopped being grumpy about us waking him up, objected to a lot of what I put on, but he never left the room so I figure he was just grouching to be ornery. He's like that sometimes._

 _Hot Rod was the most fun, since he hasn't been to Earth at all. He was dancing around by the third track. And now he wants to learn how to play the saxophone. Guess that's what I get for trying to prove that jazz is a musical genre and not just an Autobot._

 _I detect many future projects for Wheeljack and the other engineers if there are more bots wanting to play human instruments. Maybe I should introduce them to the xylophone or something - I think that can be made using metal._

 _Arcee and Hot Rod stuck around until Optimus was back, and then they had to stay for fueling. Poor Hot Rod was so overwhelmed by being in the Prime's company that he was completely tongue-tied and barely got a word out. Looks like there's a serious case of hero worshiping there._

 _He kept calling me Cynns, though. Arcee said I might as well give up on that point._

 _I did ask him why he hugged me. I'm not that used to being hugged by strangers. He said that he was mainly the closest one, but after a bit of prodding he admitted that the others kind of froze and he didn't. He claimed it was probably because they've been trapped on Earth while he's been traveling with Ultra Magnus to other Cybertronian colonies and alien planets. He has more experience handling 'weepy Neutrals'._

 _That made me think of myself differently._

 _I guess I am a Neutral. I'm certainly not going to take a brand – or if I am, I'll dig up something that indicates my profession, not a faction. I'm officially factionless._

 _Maybe if this peace lasts everyone will be._

* * *

Recharge is not like falling asleep.

Falling asleep used to be lying down, maybe reading a bit until my eyes were tired, getting really warm and heavy and then suddenly nodding off. Initiating recharge is…

Well, for one, it has to be initiated. I actually have to activate a response in my frame that shuts down the alert systems one by one until I'm under. It's more like shutting down a computer system than anything else.

I'm not comfortable with it.

I'm still trying my best to do the damn initiating when my door slides open and a familiar profile enters. And now I'm glad I'm not in recharge, because First Aid hasn't spent the night with me since I woke up in this frame, and I've really, really missed it.

So nobody can blame me, really, if I reach for him before he's even fully entered the room.

"Hello, love." The chuckle is light and quiet. "Thought you'd be in recharge by now."

"I hate recharge," I grumble. "I just want to fall asleep."

"You're cute when you pout, did you know that?"

I lean into the hand on my cheek. "Well, you're biased. You probably think I'm cute no matter what." I turn my head enough to kiss his palm. "Did you come to stay?"

"Yeah. We've knocked the schedules around a bit – there's a new Neutral medic working at the hospital now, so we can ease up a little." His mask clicks away, and he kisses my cheek. "Gives me more time to spend with you."

"I'm glad. I missed you."

First Aid's a bit taller and a lot heavier than me, so there's no way I'd manage to pull him into the berth if he wasn't going willingly. Which of course he does.

It's so nice and comforting, cuddling into that big frame. But it also highlights how alien everything about this situation really is.

I should be sleeping curled up on his chest. Cradled into the small hollow on his back. Not fitting in his arms like I belong there.

It all feels off. On top of everything that's been going on today, it's a bit too much to take.

"…hey, First Aid?"

"Yeah?" He kisses my forehead.

"Is there any part of me that's human?"

He sits up slightly at that, frowning down at me. "How do you mean? You're not technorganic, love."

I shake my head. "Not what I meant. I mean…" I sigh, try to gather my thoughts. It's not easy to put these feelings into words. "I feel like a robot. Like a computer. So much of what I'm doing now revolves around code, and commands, and memory files, and priority trees, and… I don't know. Is there any part of me left that's human? Where's the part that's _me_?"

"Oh, Isobel." His optics are warm, caring, and I don't resist when he pulls me into a sitting position as well. "I'm sorry you feel like that. And I know it has to be disorienting. But I promise, love, aside from residing in a metal body now instead of an organic one, you're every bit as human as you were." His hands take mine, caressing my wrists. "What made you you wasn't your body, though that was part of how you defined yourself. What made you you is still in there."

"Where?" I whisper. "I can't tell anymore."

He raises a hand and rests it on my chest. "In here." He cants his head, scrutinizing me. I don't know what he's looking for, but it looks like he finds it. "I want to try something. A few somethings, really. Will you let me link up? We'll use the medical port. I need to show you how to do this."

I nod. "Sure. You know I trust you."

He smiles, and it's _my_ smile, the one I fell for on a holoform's face in what feels like another lifetime. It's hauntingly familiar and painful to watch.

For some reason, everything's hard to deal with tonight. Maybe I'm getting overwhelmed.

I hope whatever First Aid's got planned will help.

I raise my arm, sliding open the cover over the medical port. First Aid connects with a low click, and I feel his presence in my mind.

It's soothing and weird at once. Which is basically the story of my life these days.

First Aid uses his medic's privileges to override whatever he needs to override to get into my system. And then his voice is in my head.

-I'm going to show you something, love. It's a command you're not going to be using that often, and probably most often with close loved ones like me and possibly Groove, but it's necessary to know. Follow my touch.-

Follow his touch, he says. Like it's that intuitive.

Though, surprisingly enough, it is.

First Aid's touch is like a bright blue line, glowing like neon piping, tracing through my systems. I watch his path, paying attention to his twists and turns, until he pauses at a layer of code I haven't seen before.

-See this line here? Activate it.-

Activate it? How?

-Just highlight it, love. And when prompted, you'll know what to do.-

Huh. It's almost like he can hear me.

-I can hear you, love. You're talking back in your mind.-

Huh. Cool.

-It is. Now highlight the code.-

I do as he says, and a line of text promptly appears on my HUD.

 _Open chest plates Y/N_

I pick Y, figuring that's what First Aid wants. The feeling of approval over our connection indicates I was right.

 _Open spark crystal Y/N_

I… don't know?

-Choose yes, love. It's not necessary, but it'll let you see better.-

O—kay.

 _Notice: spark exposed_

Holy saint on a sawhorse.

My spark's exposed.

My _spark'_ s exposed.

I have a _spark_.

Which, logically, I knew. But still. _Still_.

-There you go, love. Look down.-

I do, because of course I have to. I have to see this.

There's a green light cascading out of my chest, illuminating the space between First Aid and me, the soft green glow highlighting the edges and curves of our frames.

I raise my hand in front of my chest wonderingly. "It's… It's green."

"Yes," First Aid answers. His voice is soft, too. Maybe it's that sort of occasion. "The only Cybertronian to have a green spark."

I look down as much as I can. I'm not flexible enough to look into my own chest cavity though.

First Aid, bless him, has a small mirror.

In my chest, there's a pulsing emerald orb. It spins slowly, stray waves and fluctuations in the glow, random strobes of green light glancing off the back and sides of the clear spark crystal.

It doesn't look like me. But I know without a doubt that that's the core of me, even so.

"Why's it green?"

"We don't know." First Aid angles the mirror, shows me the light reflecting off of the edges of the open spark crystal. "Skyfire theorizes that it's a reflection of your origin. Though sapphire would perhaps have been a more expected outcome."

"Sapphire would have been logical," I agree. "But I really like that it's green. It's… woods. And grass. And all those organic things you don't have here."

"Exactly. Now, find the commands for closing your spark chamber again. There's something else I want to show you."

It takes me a bit of fumbling, but I manage to close the crystal and plating without further prompting. First Aid doesn't disconnect – instead, he pulls me to my feet and moves away from the bed.

"Now, this only works because you have such a big room here, okay? Be mindful about doing what I'm about to show you in small spaces."

I giggle, and yes, there's a slight edge of nervousness. "That's reassuring."

He smiles that gentle smile again. "Don't worry. I've got you."

I know he does. He always does.

"Follow my touch."

This time it's easier. I know what to expect and how to do it. The code is even starting to make a bit of sense – if we did this enough, I bet I could figure myself out.

When he stops, I highlight the code he shows me.

 _Initiate transformation sequence Y/N_

"Holy crap, First Aid."

"I know. You can do it. There's room. And I'm right here, still connected to you, and can guide you if you need it."

I take a deep, steadying breath. "Well. Here goes nothing."

 _Y_

My limbs curl, twisting in ways they really shouldn't be able to, and my back splits apart. My optics offline, and my head folds down, my legs tuck in under me, and suddenly I'm tipping forward –

\- somehow not falling on my face, though it feels like I should be.

I bounce slightly as I land, wobble from side to side a bit before settling.

For a moment, I just take everything in. Because it's so different.

I thought waking up as a bot would be the biggest change I'd ever go through. But no. This, this is the biggest change I'll ever go through.

I'm a frickin' motorcycle.

And somehow, I can tell that I am. I can't see, not really, but I can sense my surroundings, picking them up as angles and vectors and open spaces and obstacles. First Aid is a large mass next to me, and although I can tell where he is and isn't I can't really see his details.

It's really, really, really, really weird.

"You can comm me if you want, love. I'm not sure your vocalizer's set up to work in alt mode."

It takes me a moment to find the right command, but I manage. ::Take a picture of me?::

He laughs lightly. "You've got it. You're gorgeous, love."

He circles me, taking pictures from every angle, before taking my handlebars – and boy, did I never think that was a sentence I'd ever need – and moving me gently towards the wall.

"Now, there's one more thing I really want to show you while you're in alt mode, love. And it's going to be tricky to get at first, and might be a bit of a shock, but I think you'll like it."

I bounce a bit on my wheels. Hello, I'm an excited motorcycle! ::What's that?::

He kneels next to me, one hand against my frame in a steadying touch. "You have a holomatter generator. It's pre-programmed, too."

I have a… what?

::I have a _holoform?_ ::

"You do. Follow my touch, and I'll show you."

I don't know how First Aid's managed to stay connected throughout my transformation, but he did. By rights he should have gotten tangled up in all those moving pieces. Maybe it's a special medic power.

Again, his touch is easy to follow, but the code he leads me to is huge. I don't even know where it begins.

-Here, I'll help. We'll create a short command for this, so you can use that. Just watch me and see what I do.-

That I can do.

First Aid highlights the code, so much of it, and it branches out in several directions. Some of it, I get the impression is tied to my memory, some to my frame controls, and some are just branching off into the unknown. First Aid somehow knows exactly what he's doing, pulling all those strings in the same direction, creating a shortcut I can use. It's much shorter, easier to read and find. I think I'll manage to find my way back.

-Now. Highlight this.-

 _Activate pre-created holoform Y/N_

I choose _Y_.

 _Transfer full frame control to pre-created holoform Y/N_

 _Y_ again.

Suddenly, I'm bipedal. I'm standing up, First Aid's form towering over me. I'm soft, organic.

I'm human.

More than that, I'm _me_.

First Aid bends down with the mirror again. It's full-size to me.

In the mirror, there's a blonde woman, hair in a pony-tail. She looks younger than I remember – more early thirties than early forties.

I'm how they remember me.

Heh. Even the tears. Though I didn't mean to cry.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," I manage. Even my voice is the same. "Oh, Aid, I love it. I'm still me. I'm still here." The laugh that escapes is half a sob, but now I'm smiling and I couldn't stop if someone paid me to.

"You always were. Just in a bigger shell, that's all." He smiles down at me. "Now, you're going to have to focus to maintain it as I disconnect, okay?"

I nod. I'm me, I'm a holoform human, and I'm going to damn near stay this way until I find out what First Aid is planning.

I watch him disconnect from a flashy white and green motorcycle. It's sleek, and fancy, and fast-looking, and, yeah, hot.

Really hot.

"Wow, Aid, did you build your dream bot or something?"

He flashes me a grin. "Something like that."

His transformation sequence is familiar. I've seen it so many times before from this angle. Though I've never seen him actually transform in a room that's barely big enough for him to fit in.

And then his holoform appears.

The same smile. The same hair. The same visor-like sunglasses, even.

Those long eyelashes. Shadowing his cheek when he looks down. Just like they did when he left me ten years ago.

Ten years and a century ago.

He opens his arms just in time for me to fall into them.

His hug is familiar, too. He smells the same. He even feels the same.

He _feels the same_ to me. I can't tell the difference from touching him as a human and touching him now.

Very, very, very good holomatter technology.

"See?" he says softly. "You haven't lost anything. Only now, you have two forms to play with."

I have to chuckle at that. "Two forms, huh? Are you encouraging me to spend more time as a holoform?"

"From a medical point of view, you shouldn't transform unsupervised yet, and I'd love for you to be comfortable in your frame too. From a personal standpoint…" He smiles at me, tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Well, I have to admit that I've missed this form too. Probably not as much as you, but I've missed it."

"I'm glad I still have it, then."

And then I kiss him.

It's sweet and familiar and perfect and I can't believe how much I've missed this. It's insane. I mean, he's right here. Since I woke up, I've seen him every day.

But this… I hadn't realized how much I feared that I'd lost this.

First Aid's lips are soft and pliant against mine, giving more than he's asking for, and it's so easy to just melt against him and stay there. When I finally pull away, I simply rest my head on his shoulder instead.

"I've missed you so much." It's barely even a whisper, but I know he heard it.

He kisses my throat. "Love you, Isobel. Let's get you to bed, shall we?"

"I can sleep like this?"

"You can. Give me a moment to transform and give you a lift up, okay?"

I wait for those careful metal hands to scoop me up and deposit me oh so gently on the berth surface. My berth is much, much harder in this form than in my frame form, and the metalmesh blanket I've been using is like multi-layered wire fencing. I can bend it, but it won't warm me much. And Cybertron is cool at night.

Thankfully, First Aid comes to my rescue, as he always does. He pulls something thick and white from subspace and spreads it carefully on the bed.

It's a massive down comforter. An actual, Earth-created down comforter.

"Oh, First Aid, I could kiss you."

He chuckles. "Not going to lie, I'm kind of hoping for that. Let's make sure you'll stay warm first, though. It won't hurt the holoform to freeze – at worst, you won't be able to maintain it, and it'll dissipate – but I want you to be comfortable for this. So get on that, love, and I'll spread the second one over you."

I crawl onto the soft surface. It's utter heaven. And when the second one lands on me, covering me nearly completely from top to toe…

Sheer, utter, magnificent perfection.

Just missing one thing, really. "Come here, Aid."

He transforms again, and the holoform manifests directly in my arms. I laugh and rest my forehead against his. "Showoff."

"Glad you still think I'm impressive." He smiles and pulls me closer, shifting the comforter around us. "Now sleep, Isobel."

For the first time since I woke up as a Cybertronian, I close my eyes and just drift off.


	4. Reconnected

**A/N: DragonKara, this is the only way I can get back to you, so hope you don't mind :) Thanks for all the kind words!**

 **Unfortunately, I can't update this any more often than I do. I have nothing pre-written, I tend to start writing the next chapter when I've posted the one I just finished. I also have limited time for writing, since real life with small children and a full-time job tends to take what it needs, and I'm balancing this with three or four other writing projects. I update as soon as I've finished a chapter, and I'm going to keep doing that, and hopefully the wait won't be too long inbetween chapters :)**

* * *

"Fuel gauge."

 _Flick_

The highlight moves to a different symbol on my HUD. I know that one too, and smile at my teacher as I give the right reply.

"Self-repair status."

 _flick_

"Temperature gauge."

 _flick_

"Coolant level."

 _flick_

"Damage status."

It's the last one. I got them all right. Ratchet feels pleased – I get a definite vibe of a proud teacher coming through the connection.

-Good. Now, show me your commands.-

I dive into my own code, highlighting and naming the ones I know. "Comm access. Transformation. Flare plating. Holoform activation. Medical port access – right arm, left arm, neck, chest, right leg, left leg. Part chest plates. Open spark chamber. Open dorsal ports. Open abdominal ports. Visor control."

I can feel Ratchet's focus on everything I name, tracing my path through the code.

"Music player. Memory access. Camera. External audio recorder. Schedule. Notepad."

-Very good, sparklet. Now, your firewalls.-

Ratchet 'watches' through the link as I lower each of my firewalls in turn, raise them all again, and then lower the firewalls that are required to come down for medical access, data sharing and finally complete sharing.

-Good.- He disconnects from me, and I look up to see a faint smile on his face. "Now, your transformation sequence."

I step away from the bench to stand at the middle of the floor. My alt mode's small, but I still require a little space to actually transform. Once I'm on my wheels, I roll in a slow circle around Ratchet, turn and roll the other way and then transform back.

"Good." His smile grows. He picks up a datapad and makes a very exaggerated check on one of the last boxes on the list. "Very good, sparklet. Now, please tell me the conditions for your clean bill of health."

"I download the traffic regulations and learn them," I rattle off. "I take mandatory driving lessons on a closed track with Streetwise, Arcee and Groove, and any time I need to drive in public I need Streetwise to accompany me. These supervised drives will continue until Streetwise decides that I'm competent enough. Until then, I will use my legs or a transport if I'm going somewhere unattended. I will report for medical check-up once a week for now. I will download the supplied information on Cybertronian history and culture, and familiarize myself with that knowledge." I pause – there's something I've forgotten, I know it. "Oh! And I will keep myself adequately fueled and rested at all times."

"There's my sparklet." Ratchet grins. "Alright, I'm ready to let you go. Sign here, please."

I put in the complicated but elegant glyph that is my Cybertronian name on the datapad. It feels like writing calligraphy, it's so complex.

"Great. I'm so proud of you, Isobel." His voice turns gruff as he turns away from me. "Now get out of here before I find a reason to keep you. Didn't you have an apartment to view? If you take much longer, it'll be gone. And then you're stuck with us until something else crops up."

Like he would mind that. Ratchet's such a softie.

"I did," I reply cheerfully. "And Mirage and Hound are waiting for me. I'll see you tonight!"

"Sure you will," I hear as I turn away and leave the office. "If I ever get done with the rest of today's checkups. And don't speed down the ramp!" he calls after me.

As if I would. I don't know how to drive myself properly yet.

That can wait, though. For now, I have a lunch appointment, and then there's a real estate broker waiting for me. There's a free apartment in Mirage's and Hound's building, and I really really _really_ want it.

Moonracer's more of a coordinator than a broker, really. I suppose Groove was trying to use a term I'm familiar with. Which is nice of him, but considering all the other stuff I have to get used to, the idea that there's a bot who's in charge of allocating housing instead of people just buying and selling it for themselves is not that far of a stretch.

I'm not complaining, though. If this works out, he'll have gotten me a place to live. That isn't with my pseudo-parents. Much as I love them, I'm ready to stand on my own feet. Pedes.

"There she is! Hey, Cynosura!"

I turn towards the cheerful voice as I exit the hospital. Hound's there, waving at me, looking just like he did when they picked me up from Earth in a previous lifetime. I'm ridiculously happy to see him.

The mech on his arm I've never seen before, though. He's slim, blue and white, and elegant – it's a strange word to apply to a metal being, but it's really the only word that fits.

"Hello, Cynosura," he greets me. There's a small smile on his lips. "I suppose you don't recognize me in this frame."

I stare at him. Because, yeah, I totally didn't. "Mirage? Wow! You look – different."

Understatement of the year. The only one I can imagine looks more different from Earth to now is, well, me.

"It's how I used to look," he says, pulling away from Hound slightly and turning a bit to let me see him better. "The Earth frame was a temporary military upgrade, with thicker plating that could take more damage. I am very glad to be back to myself again."

"I'm very happy about too." Hound is practically purring as he pulls Mirage close to him again. "I liked the red well enough, but I've missed this." He nuzzles Mirage's flaring helmvent. "It's so much easier to get my arms around you."

"I do fit much better like this," Mirage agrees, smiling at his mate. "Like I was meant to be here."

I giggle at them. "Okay, if you two're going to be this ridiculously sappy throughout our lunch, I'm calling First Aid to join us."

That has Hound laughing. "So sue me if I'm giddy about my mate being the most gorgeous mech on Cybertron."

"Haven't you two been bonded for vorn at this point?" I tease. "Shouldn't the rose-colored lenses have fallen off by now?"

"Never." Hound nuzzles Mirage's face, and it's so sweet that I can practically _feel_ my spark calling out for my Protectobot.

Both of them, actually. We need to set up a date or something again. I don't see nearly enough of them.

But that's for another time.

"Well, that's all well and good. But one of Ratchet's conditions for letting me go was that I feed myself, and if we keep standing here that'll never happen." I link my arm with Mirage's. "Shall we?"

"We shall." He smiles down at me. He's not as tall as he was, I can tell when I compare to Hound, but he's still taller than I am.

Mirage sets the pace, and he's practically promenading. So we're strolling down the streets, all three of us arm-in-arm, and getting no few strange looks from passers-by.

I guess we do look a bit out of the ordinary.

Hound meets every stare with a grin, though, and Mirage just looks smug as all heck. So I end up smiling as well.

And maybe play _Sh-boom_ for myself, in my own mind.

I'm ridiculously proud that I can walk and manage my music player at once.

"So," Mirage says, grinning at me. "Have you had the grand tour yet?"

I shake my head. "I've barely even been outside."

"Well, then we know what to do now, don't we?" Hound winks.

"Get our meal to go and do the tour," Mirage concludes, with a tone and air like it's already decided whether I agree or not.

Well, I guess I'll certainly work up an appetite. Maybe I can try walking, refueling and talking to someone else all at once, too. It'll be progress.

Mirage smiles at me again and leans close to my audial. "I'm so glad we can be friends like this."

I squeeze his arm. "You and me both."

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Guess what?_

 _I GOT THE APARTMENT!_

 _It's so perfect! It's got two berthrooms and a living room and a kitchen of sorts. It's a kitchenette, really, with a cooler and a hot plate and some cabinets. Sort of like what Optimus and Ratchet have, really, which I guess is what passes for kitchens here. It's certainly enough for me – my needs at this point extend to a cupboard and the equivalent of a spice rack._

 _I'm going to maybe knock the wall between the berthrooms down and make one room with space for a really large berth. A really, really large berth. Must fit three._

 _We haven't really had the chance to hang out just the three of us. Not really. Maybe a big berth can give us an excuse._

 _Seriously, it's so awesome. And I can see the square with the council building and stuff from my living room window. Hound and Mirage are two floors up, and they say the neighbors will be happy to meet me. So I'm looking forward to that._

 _Lunch was so nice. I didn't realize how much I'd missed them. How much I've missed all my friends, really._

 _And there are still some gaping holes there._

 _So it's time for me to get out of Ratchet's and Optimus' – well, not hair. Lair, maybe. It's time for me to get out of their lair and start earning my keep again._

 _And there are two bots I need to find._

* * *

I thought getting Ratchet to finally let me go was hard. That amounts to nothing compared to the mountain of bureaucracy I have to wade through to be allowed to practice psychology.

It doesn't help that the mech in charge of deciding whether I can do so or not is one I don't know from before.

Who also has no knowledge of Earth apart from the reports he's read.

And who, therefore, doesn't know what psychology _is_.

And who can't seem to wrap his mind around the fact that talking to someone can actually be a cure.

"Let me make sure I've understood," Ultra Magnus says slowly. "It's a form of mental therapy that requires the subject to willingly talk about their problems."

I nod. "Yes, sir." This mech is one of those you always call sir, no matter what.

"And you've specialized in this form of therapy, in particular when it comes to mental trauma associated with war."

I nod again.

"And the training you've received, though long enough to take up most of your adult human lifetime, still took less time than Ratchet's first field medicine course."

Now he's being ornery on purpose. I'm sure of it.

Deep breaths, Isobel.

"I just want to help," I say, as firmly as I dare with this mech. "I know I can help. I can get testimonies, if you like. Recommendations."

He steeples his fingers and frowns at me. "And what do you wish to get out of this, Cynosura?"

Oh, for the love of all that is holy.

"I want to help," I insist. "I have all these skills, and I sit here and watch all these mecha needing my skills, and I can't help them as it is. These are my _friends_ , my _family_ , this is my new _home planet_ , and I want to be of use. For heaven's sake, the only reason I was brought here in the first place was so that I could help!"

Those cool eyes are watching me. He's different, this one – it's like he's inherently professional, that's his purpose and function, that's how he defines himself.

It's an intriguing personality quirk. One that I'll probably never be allowed to get more acquainted with, because there's no way this mech will seek therapy for _anything_.

"Let me set up a hypothetical scenario for you," he says finally. "Imagine a young mech. He grows up well, but war is brewing, and though his city's out of the way and has few resources worth conquering it won't stay safe for long. So he joins the side he hopes is the right one, and goes through the rigorous training to become a warrior, all in the hopes of keeping his city safe. His first battle is rough, the next is rougher, but by the fifth it's routine. And in his fourteenth battle, one of his immediate superiors is shot in front of him. The wounded soldier is a truckformer, large and heavy, and falls back upon his lighter frame and pins him to the ground. He's stuck there, underneath a dying mech, for the majority of the battle and the cleanup. All the while, the wounded mech's energon flows over his frame, sticking in his joints and gumming up his cabling. And all the while, he keeps talking to the wounded mech in the hopes that he'll stay online long enough that the medics can get to him before his spark gutters. When they finally get the wounded mech off him and reveals that the young mech is uninjured, he's given a pat on the back and a ride back to base and told to clean himself off and have a pleasant recharge. It takes weeks before he learns if his wounded superior even survived." He focuses on me. "Now. What would you say to this soldier?"

I stare at him. Because, seriously? That's his hypothetical scenario?

"That depends on what he sought my help for," I force out. "Is it survivor's guilt? Does he feel he should have done more? Is he now suddenly afraid of being stuck, so much so that it's become a liability in battle? Recharge terrors? Does he now have a compulsive cleaning regime because it always feels like he has someone else's energon under his plating?"

Now Ultra Magnus is the one staring at me.

 _Hah. Keep staring. I could go on all day, mech._

"Let me give you a scenario instead," I say firmly. Well, as firmly as I dare with this mech. "Imagine a young soldier. He's on his first deployment, but he's been there for a while now and he's getting used to it. He's made friends among the other soldiers and the locals. Then one day his troop is attacked while they're trying to secure a local village. Two of the other soldiers, of his friends, are killed instantly. His commanding officer's injured. The rookie of the group is trying frantically to radio for backup. Now, the soldier can see one of the insurgents. He's got his gun trained on him at this point, ready to fire. The moment he does, the insurgent manages to pull one of the locals in front of him. A young woman. A non-combatant."

I can tell I have his attention now. Good, because I'm making my point whether he likes it or not.

"This soldier shot and killed her. Unintentional, yes, and tragic, but she's no less dead. Her small son is no less alone in the world."

"Tragedies happen in war," Ultra Magnus says softly.

"Yes," I agree, "and soldiers have to learn to live with them."

"So what happened with this particular soldier?"

"He tried to push through it. Tell himself that it was unavoidable, not his fault, couldn't be helped. Kept track of her son, made sure he had what he needed. As much as could be had in war, anyway. Then his deployment was over, and he was sent back home. That's when he broke down. He couldn't handle the guilt – every young woman he saw became the woman he killed, every small child her son, until he became afraid to leave home because he couldn't handle his flashbacks. He was on the verge of losing his apartment, his benefits, everything, when he finally began undergoing therapy."

Ultra Magnus nods slowly. "I've seen mecha act in similar manner. What did you do?"

"It took time," I admit. "We had to work our way down to the core of the issue, because he flinched away from it. He'd also developed anxiety, and the guilt had led to a slew of other issues as well. So it took time. But, eventually, he was able to function in society again. He transferred to another psychologist. Last I heard, he'd gotten married. And he'd kept in touch with the orphaned boy, sending him money and such, making sure the kid got schooling. It's as happy an ending as such a story ever gets, in my opinion."

He looks at me. Scrutinizes me, really. "I've had bots offline themselves because they couldn't handle the guilt."

I meet that gaze evenly. "Then you know there's a need for what I can do."

For a moment, neither of us say anything. I don't look away.

"Very well," he says finally. "I'll double-check with Ratchet, and we'll need to edit the medical legislation. Barring any issues with that, I'll get a confirmation sent over to you within a few days. We'll get your designation added to the list of medics."

"That's excellent. Thank you." I manage not to exhale in relief, but it's a near thing. "Is there anything in the way of my beginning to search for an appropriate office space now?"

"None," he replies. "You don't want to operate out of the hospital?"

"I'd rather not. I'd like a neutral space. It tends to put clients more at ease."

"I suppose I can understand that." He stands, and whoa is this mech tall. It feels like he's close to double my height, though that's probably an exaggeration. Still, I have to crane my neck to look him in the optics.

"Welcome to Cybertron, Cynosura." His giant hand near swallows mine. "I look forward to working with you."

One hurdle down, one to go.

Now I have to hunt down an office space.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _It was actually nice to meet Ultra Magnus. Even though he was a hassle to handle. I think that's mainly because he's so strict._

 _But he's well-adjusted. He's calm._

 _It's a blessing to meet someone who hasn't been completely traumatized by this war. They're few and far between._

 _And now I probably jinxed myself. Oh well. He'll be one of the first to learn where my office space is anyway, so he'll know where to go if he needs it._

 _I'm going to start compiling a list of which bots I'd like to see once I'm operational. Some of them require different tactics._

 _Bluestreak, Mirage, Skyfire, the rest of the ones I saw on Earth, they should all be fine with regular office sessions. Some of them are maybe even doing better now. But there are some who I know are doing much worse, and I need a plan for handling them._

 _Ratchet told me the referral system can still be active. And that he has a shortlist of Decepticons to see me already. I had kind of expected that, though it's going to be an interesting challenge to deal with the other side, so to speak. He promised he'd start me off with some of the easier ones, but I'm not sure anything Megatron touched is going to be easy to fix._

 _And then there are the Neutrals. That's a whole different kettle of fish. Some of them never saw the war, just had to run from it and find a safe place – and some have lived with the threat of violence over their heads for millions of years._

 _I'm going to bet there's a lot of every diagnosis possible here. I wish I had some of my reference books, since my memory's kind of sketchy. But I'm rereading my thesis, anyway. I'll have to make do with what I've got._

* * *

Finding an office space turns out to be a lot harder than I had expected. It looks like the rebuilding effort hasn't gotten further than the necessaries – adequate housing for everyone, medical and engineering facilities, the council building, a handful of warehouses and businesses.

Nothing that suits my needs. And after spending all day walking around the settlement – Pax Novum, they're calling it, which seems a bit ambitious for what I've seen so far; apparently it's being built on the ruins of what was once Tyger Pax, which explains some of it – I'm fair fit to give up and grab an office in the hospital after all. At least for now.

Still. It's pretty, what they've finished of the town. From the bench at the center of the square in front of the council building, it almost looks complete. The bright façade of Ratchet's hospital down the street balances with the more traditional look of the council building behind me, and there are mecha walking around and chatting. Typical city-scape.

Almost complete. The unfinished park mars it somewhat. And the fountain is nice, all sharp angles and geometric shapes, but it has no water or anything running through it yet.

I guess the artistic finishing touches will have to wait until they're on top of the rebuilding effort. It would make sense.

Besides, they're still missing their main artist. Though I do have hopes to fix that.

It's a good place for a break, this bench. And for trying to consume the energon cube I brought with me - though 'trying' is really the operative word. It's _nasty_. I thought I'd gotten used to the flavor by now, but I'm having serious issues with this.

"Lukewarm's not the best if you're not used to it," a deep voice says from behind me. "You'd be better off with either heated or chilled, or at least with some additives in it."

"I usually put additives in it," I agree, looking down at my miserable excuse for fuel. "But I didn't know how to reseal the cube, so I didn't dare to open it. I don't even know if it stays good after the additives are in, or if it's a fresh thing like the whipped cream on cocoa. And I couldn't find anything to put the additives in so I could bring them. So today it's plain, lukewarm energon." I turn to look up at him. "Guess I have a lot to learn about being Cybertronian still. Hello, Thundercracker."

"Hello, Cynosura." He offers me a small smile. "Mind if I sit?"

"Sure." I gesture at the bench. "Whoever made this made it big enough for at least two."

I'd half expected to feel a bit intimidated. I was, back on Earth. But Thundercracker looks tired somehow, almost sad, and though a smidgeon of fear should perhaps have been a logical response it just doesn't manifest.

I'm glad. It will make it so much easier for me to work with the Decepticons if I don't react like they're going to hurt me every moment they're near.

Besides, I'm a Cybertronian now. And I might as well stop being afraid of the ones who've never really hurt me.

"Here." Thundercracker hands me a small packet. "I like this blend. It works with any temperature energon."

I bury the instant gut reaction that says I shouldn't let a stranger put anything in my drink. I'm made of metal now and have two medics on speed-dial. I think I'll be fine.

"Thanks." Into the cube it goes. The first sip is not bad. The next is better. I give Thundercracker a smile. "So how are things?"

He shrugs. It's a very elaborate movement with those wings. "I'm doing okay. I work surveys with Bee and Blurr – not my life's ambition, but it's interesting enough. Lets me fly plenty." He looks at me. Looks away. Looks at me again.

Jesus.

"Spit it out, Thundercracker. I can tell there's something you want."

He tries for a smile. "Must be all that psychology training, huh."

"That," I agree. "And you're about as transparent as a sheet of glass."

"Clearly." He smiles slightly, though it doesn't quite seem to reach his optics. I can tell he hesitates to speak. "Okay, I'll just get right to it then. Do you take on patients now?"

"Not yet." I shake my head. "Unfortunately. But soon. I'm waiting for Ultra Magnus to send me the paperwork and update the legislation that will allow me to practice. He said it would just take a few days. Why, what did you have in mind?"

He sighs. "Starscream."

Starscream. The top of my list of mecha who require special consideration and need treatment both urgently and long-term.

I lower my voice. "How's he doing? Any improvement?"

He shakes his head slightly. "Not really. He's… Sometimes he's there, we can talk to him, he knows who we are and where he is. But sometimes he's confused, keeps asking how the war goes, giving us orders, talking to Megatron like he's there. And on the really bad days he doesn't really register us at all. He just stares into the distance." The optics he turns on me are imploring. "Can you help him?"

"I can certainly try," I reply firmly. "I know what I think it sounds like. But I'd need to talk to him. And there's one thing I need to know first."

"As long as you're willing to try," Thundercracker replies. He sounds relieved. "What do you need?"

Now it's my turn to hesitate. This is never an easy topic to breach, and I'm not even sure how things work here. "I'm going to guess, based on how you describe him, that Starscream's not able to make sound decisions on his own behalf at this point. Does anyone have legal guardianship of him?"

He frowns. "How do you mean?"

"Well, on Earth," I explain, "when someone is sick enough that they can't make informed decisions, they need a legal guardian. With children it's often the parents, with adults it's often a spouse or grown children or other members of the family."

His optics brighten. "Oh, like that. Yeah, we have that. Skywarp and I are responsible for Starscream right now. You can ask Ratchet, we signed a document for initial treatment so he should have it on file."

"Good." I smile at him. "That'll make things a lot simpler."

He smiles at that, but it looks more like a mask than anything. He still looks so dejected. I make a mental note to schedule in both Thundercracker and Skywarp when I get a schedule going.

"Hey." I reach out to touch his arm. "Don't give up hope yet. I'll make him a priority, I promise."

He sighs, scrub a hand across his face. "I really do appreciate that. It's just… hard."

"I know." There really isn't more to say about that.

* * *

 _Seeing Thundercracker really got me thinking. There are so many of them who're in similar situations – losing someone, being next of kin to someone who's seriously ill, being victims themselves. I'm starting to wonder if there's anyone on this planet without serious mental trauma._

 _Barring, maybe, Ultra Magnus._

 _I think I want to look into creating support groups of some sort. Maybe of several sorts. Of course, it's not going to be for everyone, because nothing ever is… But I can see it help someone like Thundercracker, who's open to talking about his experiences. If there was someone else in his situation, I'd have already suggested it._

 _The faction lines seem to have blurred a lot already. As far as I've seen, there are quite a few on either side – or all three sides, really – that would be willing to be civil to each other._

 _There are so many mecha here I don't know yet. But maybe Ratchet and that receptionist – Greenlight? – can help me. If I make it an open offer, maybe I'll be surprised at who shows up._

 _I think I'll do it. As soon as Ultra Magnus gets me my license and has me registered as a medic, I'm going to post an open support group for war trauma survivors. And then people can interpret that however they may._

 _Maybe I should reach out to a few of them. Some of the less infamous ones, to not freak out any neutrals. Just to make sure someone actually shows._

 _Mirage, maybe. He's calm and collected, but he could do with some more help. And Bluestreak, if he can handle it. Maybe Bumblebee. One of the Protectobots – not Blades – just because they're really suited for this work. A few Decepticons too – maybe Laserbeak? She's seen a lot. I can't really get a seeker, since they've been airbombing everyone into oblivion since forever, so those wings might in themselves be triggering._

 _I'll talk to Laserbeak about it. She might know of someone._

* * *

"Unlock the door, Belle?" Groove smiles at me around the large stack of boxes in his arms. "This is getting heavy."

"Give me a moment. I haven't used one of these before." I stare at the doorlock, which is less a lock than a flat metal square next to the doorjamb. "What do I even do?"

Groove shifts his grip on the boxes. They're apparently heavier than they look. "Put your palm against it. Then input the code. Moonracer gave you that, didn't she?"

"Yeah." The panel slides aside at my touch to reveal a keypad. The code is ridiculously long, a combination of numerals and symbols, all in that Cybertronian script I'm not very good at yet. It takes me a few tries before the door clicks open. "There."

I pick my own boxes back up to carry them inside. The apartment is still mostly empty, the bright daylight streaming in through the windows illuminating the pale floors and blank walls.

Groove drops his load on the floor and turns to do something to the door. "I'll go help the others with the rest. The door's locked open now, so it won't close until we're done. Start emptying these ones?"

"Sure." I'm distracted by the view, though. It's just as gorgeous as last time I was here, but now I have better time to look.

My own apartment. I still can't really believe I'm here. The view helps convince me, though.

Outside, there are mecha everywhere I look. Crossing the public square, around the geometric not-quite-a-fountain I was sitting by yesterday. Walking into the council building – I'm going to find out which office is Prowl's, so I can help Jazz nag at him when he's working too late. And so I can wave at him from my window.

The streets are… not quite crowded, but not empty either. This town is alive. Vibrant. Comfortable. Peaceful.

Across the street, two familiar figures are leaving the building opposite mine. Two Decepticons I haven't seen in well over a century.

Before I know I've decided to do it, I'm sliding open the floor-to-ceiling windows and leaning out against the railing. "Hey, Scrapper! Hook!"

I also hadn't really decided to shout loud enough to get everyone staring at me. Oh well. At least I can see Groove grinning up at me from where he's unloading the flatbed trailer we borrowed.

"Hey, Cynosura!" Hook shouts back. I figured he'd recognize me. "How're you doing? Moving in?"

"Yes!" Damn all this shouting, now people are giggling. "Today!"

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood!" Scrapper calls. "We've got the whole building here, so come over when you want to! Scavenger's been wanting to talk to you about some stuff he brought from Earth!"

"It's junk," Hook grumbles loudly, "but he won't take my word for that."

I giggle. "Sure! I'll come over to visit you guys soon, okay?"

The nod up at me and wave before walking down the street again.

I leave the windows open – the air's nice and fresh, and I like hearing the town all alive outside. It's a nice enough background soundtrack to my unpacking.

In fact…

What's the point of having speakers in my abdomen if I'm not going to use them? I don't think I've exposed the Cybertronians to Billy Joel yet. And today feels like an Uptown Girl day.

Unpacking turns into a dance, as my meager collection of possessions and fairly large pile of contributions from my friends and family – and in one case slight acquaintance, since I don't know what to think about Ultra Magnus giving me a potted crystal as a housewarming gift - leave their boxes to find a place in my new home.

My photo albums, safe in my old suitcase for a hundred years, onto the newly installed shelf. My games next to them.

My blankets and pillows and everything soft I brought from Earth. I make a mental note to thank Wheeljack for finding a way to keep them safe in this environment.

Everything's so tiny in my hands. What was once big enough to cover me completely now fits on half a shelf.

Still soft, though. I rub what used to be my favorite quilt across my cheek.

It still _smells_ like Earth.

"I didn't know you were friends with the Constructicons."

I turn to Streetwise and help him navigate the long metal struts that are part of the berthframe into the right room. "You know, I'm not really? But today just feels like one of those days where I'm friends with everyone."

"Well, they're nice enough mecha, now that we're not on opposite sides of the war," he allows as we lower the pieces carefully. "And I know they helped out with your frame."

"I'm looking forward to getting to know everyone."

Streetwise chuckles at my eagerness. "Good. Because there are a lot of mecha who're excited to meet you."

Groove comes in, drops another box near the frame. "I think these are the bolts. And Blades says he's nearly here with the berthpad." He winks at me. "It's a good thing you opened the windows."

"Opened the windows?" That makes no sense.

Unless…

Groove laughs at the look on my face. "You got it, Belle. Your berth is delivered by air."

I dart to the window, hanging over the railing to look out. In the distance, there's a helicopter carrying a large parcel. He's coming closer by the second.

"Stand back, Isobel," Streetwise says, nudging me gently to move me aside. "The bond we've got simplifies this, so let us handle it."

I'm not going to argue. Besides, watching two big robots drag what is essentially a mattress through a third story window is not something you see every day.

Under my watchful and clueless optic, the three Protectobots I've booked for the day assemble the berth frame. I have to suppress a giggle while they're bolting it together – it reminds me of a certain flatpack furniture warehouse back on Earth.

Still, for all the lack of instruction manuals, it doesn't take them too long. Blades dumps an armful of bedding on the berth and begins conjuring up pillows, emptying what seems like his entire subspace.

It seems I owe a lot of mechs a thankyou-note.

"I think that's it," Streetwise comments, looking around. "We've emptied the flatbed, and what's left here I think you need to manage, Isobel."

"Not before time either," Blades agrees. "I have a shift to get to."

"You all do, don't you?" I hand them each an energon cube. My dispenser is just like the one at Ratchet's place, thankfully. And he made sure I packed a whole contingent of additives.

"Not me," Groove says cheerfully. "If you need some more help."

I don't think I do, really. But there's no way in hell I'm throwing Groove out.

Something must have shown on my face, because Blades smirks, looking from me to Groove. "I think that's our clue to leave, Streets."

Streetwise throws me a lazy salute. "I think you're right, brother. Good night, you two!"

Blades throws himself out the window and transforms, hovering outside for a moment. "Come on, Streets, I'll give you a lift. Bye guys! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"That's basically carte blanche, Blades," Groove calls back as Streetwise jumps outside and grabs Blades' landing gear.

"Thanks for the help!" I holler as they fly off.

"Sure thing, princess!"

Earth rubbed off hard on the Protectobots. Though I had hoped they'd all forgotten about the princess thing. Guess it was too much to hope for.

When I turn around, Groove is suddenly right there. I mean, right there, so close I'm almost drowning in those optics.

"Welcome home," he says softly, with that smile that's so like his brother's and yet not. "Do you like it?"

"I love it." I put my arms around his neck and pull him close enough that my forehead rests against his. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you're happy." His hands are on my waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles over my plating. "Can I stay a bit longer?"

 _As long as you want_ , I think, and _Forever_ , and a bunch of other sappy phrases I know we're not quite ready for yet. "Of course you can."

There's something in the air now, something tingly and anticipatory and honestly a little nerve-wracking, and I buy myself some time by dragging a finger across Groove's chest. It comes away dusty.

He chuckles. "Point taken. Can I use your wash rack?"

"Go ahead." My voice is husky, I know it, and I can feel Groove's engine dropping into a deeper purr in response. He does manage to tear himself away, though, turning and walking through the door at the far end of the room.

As soon as the door closes behind him, I take a deep breath. And send a ping to the other most important person in my comm directory.

It doesn't take him too long to respond.

::Hey, love! Moving going well?::

::Very well.:: I swallow, suddenly incredibly nervous. ::We're done, in fact. And Streets and Blades have left.::

::Ah.::

It's like he knows what's going on. What I'm going to ask. So I just steel myself and go ahead.

::Aid, can Groove and I…:: Another deep breath. ::Can we break in my new berth without you?::

There's a pause, and then he chuckles. ::You don't have to ask permission, love. I know we haven't really discussed boundaries and such, but Groove and I have had a century to figure out what we want. And how to share.::

::So… you're okay with that?::

::Well, I'm not going to lie and say I didn't wish I could join you.:: His tone is wistful. ::But honestly, Isobel? I'd say it's about time you two got some time together alone. You need to get to know each other better.::

My Protectobot is perfect.

::First Aid, I love you.::

Another chuckle. ::I love you too, Isobel. Have fun.::

Have fun, he says. Like I'm not ninety percent nerves at this point.

I try pacing, and sitting, and wondering how the hell Groove can use hours in the wash rack and whether I should get Ratchet or First Aid to look over my chronometer, because it has to be malfunctioning. In the end I just rearrange the datapads on the shelf, over and over and over and over, until two strong hands catch mine and make me stop.

Groove doesn't say anything. He just presses his mouth to my shoulder, planting small kisses and nibbles along the plating up to my neck. Licks the cables there before sucking one into his mouth.

I go strutless in his arms. Luckily Groove seems to be prepared for that, because he supports my weight easily. Without pausing for a moment.

Somehow he manages to maneuver us towards the berth room. I'm not sure how, considering my legs aren't working and my optics offlined somehow, but I do notice when he leans me back until there's softness supporting my frame.

"You're so beautiful, Belle," he whispers. "I don't have the words."

I reach for him. I don't need the words. I just need him to keep touching me.

He chuckles, clearly getting it, because those fingers travel down my frame, dipping into seams that I didn't know were this sensitive. His breath is warm on me, even as I'm heating up. I can feel myself shivering.

This time, I don't get any of those warning symbols on my HUD. Thank Ratchet for small favors.

Groove's mouth moves then, from my throat and down across my chest, teasing and nipping. I squirm at the too-light touches. They're not enough, and I want more, but I don't know of what.

I don't know of what.

"Groove," I manage, though my voice is almost a moan, "I don't know how this works. Interfacing. I don't know what to do."

That brings him back up to where we can look at each other again. Groove's smiling slightly. "Do you want the lecture," he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle my cheek, "or the practical demonstration?"

I pinch his side. "Don't be a tease."

"Fair enough." His hand catches mine, pulling it down to rest against his hip. "Remember that tactile overload?"

Like I could forget. Groove apparently reads my faint moan as agreement, because he continues talking. And touching. I seriously didn't know my finials were that… erogenous.

"That's one way of doing it." His voice is soft, pulling at something in me I don't recognize. "Another, and the most intimate, is sparks, which we won't do yet and definitely not without Aid here. The third..." He touches my hand on his hip again, guides my fingers in a rough square pattern.

There's a tiny seam under my fingertips. When I begin tracing it on my own, Groove groans slightly.

"The third is hardline," he manages. "Want to give it a try?"

I don't know what I'm agreeing to at this point, and I don't care. I just nod, pulling him closer with one hand and pushing harder against that small square with the other.

It opens, moving aside under my fingers. Underneath, there are what feels like cables.

Hardline. Cables.

I have to suppress a giggle again. It would really be a moodkiller at this point.

But if this is anything like a LAN or something I'm not sure I'm going to be able to stay serious.

Groove's fingers are tracing across my own hip, clearly looking for my own small square. It's clear to me when he finds it, because suddenly there's enough sensation to have me arching off the berth.

"Whoa –"

"Whoa's right, Belle." He smiles. "Open for me?"

Oh good, another command I have to learn. His fingers become more insistent, teasing at the edges, and a notice pops up on my HUD to open my port cover.

I accept. Here goes nothing.

Groove teases at the exposed cables, and I arch up again. There's something in there that's incredibly sensitive, but he's not quite hitting the spot, and it's getting frustrating.

I don't realize I'm moaning in frustration until he chuckles at me. "Relax, beautiful. I've got you."

He tugs at my cables, pulling them free of the housing, and what I thought was a bunch of cables turn out to be one long, thin length with a slim silver plug at the end. Groove smirks at me as he takes hold of the plug, bringing it up to his lips.

When he licks it, the pleasure is so intense my vocalizer shorts out. All I manage to produce is some form of static.

I'm too afraid of hurting something to reciprocate, though, so I tug at Groove's free hand to get him to unspool his own cable. He keeps teasing my plug while he's doing it, too, which doesn't exactly help my focus.

It feels _amazing_.

"Now, the plug," Groove says, and he doesn't sound unaffected either, "goes in the corresponding port. Want to do it yourself?"

I hold up my hands so he can see them. They're shaking. Some of it's because I'm turned on, I know, but quite a lot of it's nerves. "Does it look like I can be trusted with sensitive components?"

He laughs quietly. "I'd trust you with quite a lot, Belle, but I get your point." He holds up my plug. It's so sensitive even the air around it feels like a caress. "Watch."

I do try. And it's easy enough to watch as he slowly pulls the plug towards his own port, there on his hip next to the cable. But the moment it comes even slightly close, there's an intense pull, and it feels like my plug's almost vibrating.

It's even more intense than when he licked it. And when it finally connects, with a faint click I can barely hear –

I don't have words. Literally, because my vocalizer's shut down again, along with my optics. And I can feel someone in my head, like I'm reaching out to something, but I don't know what it is yet. Not until I can feel Groove's plug clicking into my own port.

I was wrong. This is nothing like a LAN at all.

This is… This is intense pleasure, the like of which I've never, ever experienced, not even as a human. Everything's sharpened – more sensation, more pleasure, warmer, colder, _everything_. And in the middle of it all, in the middle of a maelstrom of feeling that's threatening to overwhelm me, there's Groove.

He's a solid presence, offering a connection. And I accept, because that's the point, isn't it? Even though I don't know how much more of this I can take, it's already almost too much for me.

"I'm sending the first charge packet now," someone says, and I realize it's Groove, of course it is, he's both inside my head and outside it. And I don't have the time to ask what that even means before something surges across the connection and explodes through my frame, setting off sensors from my toes to the tip of my shoulder blades, and it's hard to tell where the charge ends and the real touches begin. I know I'm moaning, and there's a name in there somewhere, and Groove's chuckling, though I can't say if it's in my head or if it's real…

"Send it back, love."

I don't know how. I don't even know how to say that I don't know how. Everything in my mind is pleasure, and I can't think straight.

"Gather up the sensations and throw them at me."

I try. I focus on the feeling, as much as I can, and push them at the connection.

By Groove's moan and sudden arching, I managed. Though I don't have time to revel in my success before the charge comes right back, bursting along every seam and cable in me, and now I can see the faint sparks that flash into existence across my plating, and across his as well.

I feel like I might melt. Or explode. Whatever happens next.

"One more, Belle," Groove says, and now he's panting, his plating scorching hot against my hands. I gather up everything I have and push it at him. He groans, almost crashes down on top of me, and immediately I'm assaulted with the strongest charge yet. It washes over me, and in its wake, everything turns black.

"Isobel…"

I groan a bit at the voice. Everything has a pleasant ache to it, like I've done yoga for hours. Or got run over by a truck.

"Belle…"

"Shaddup," I manage. "'M sleeping."

There's a soft chuckle. "Wake up, sleepy beautiful. I need to get some fuel in you."

Like that's reason enough to wake up.

Hands move over my frame, along with something moist. It takes me a moment to realize that Groove's cleaning me with a damp cloth. It feels nice – I'm not that warm any more, for all that I'm sore all over.

"Come on, Belle. Aid'll have my plating for space shielding if I don't get you refueled."

That has me onlining my optics and frowning at him. "No using Aid's puppy eyes to guilt trip me into anything."

He smiles, holds up a cube. I can see the additives floating in it. "Not even this? I added carbon."

"Oh, fine." I draw a put-upon sigh. "Gimme."

He hands over the cube and waits politely until I've finished it. Then he drops down next to me in the berth.

"So… was that okay?"

I consider for a moment. Yeah, I feel all dismantled, but in a good way. And having Groove in my head was… "Yeah." I smile at him. "Yeah, it was amazing."

He's just close enough to snuggle against, though it takes me more than a few tries before I find a position that allows for my shoulder blades and finials to be comfortable. When we finally slot together properly, it's like I was sculpted to fit against him like this – my legs tangling with his, one arm around his waist, my head tucked up under his chin.

"Maybe we can try sparks with First Aid next time we're all off together." This close, Groove's voice almost tickle my finials.

"I have to have a job to have time off, but yeah. I'd love to plan for that."

Reflexively, I check my queue. Not that I expect much – it's late, not even Ultra Magnus will be working now.

Except, it seems he is. Or he was, half an hour ago.

Groove clearly notices something's up. Maybe my gasp alerts him. "What's up?"

I skim through the documents Ultra Magnus sent. They're a lot of legalese and it's going to take me a while to get the details, but the gist of them is clear enough.

"I've been approved." I laugh, more than a little giddy, and squeeze Groove tighter. "I can practice on Cybertron."

"About time," Groove says with real feeling. "We need it. So many mechs need it." He nuzzles the top of my head. "Any idea where you're going to start?"

Clever Groove, not asking for names. He knows I can't give them.

"Yeah," I reply. "Yeah, I know exactly where to start. But I need to talk to Aid first." I pull back a bit so I can look at him. "You mind if I comm him now? It won't take long."

He smiles. "No, it's fine, Belle." He pulls me closer again, tucks my head back under his chin. "You can comm him from right here."

I giggle and snuggle in as close as I can. "Sure."

::Hey, First Aid!::

::Isobel? Something wrong?:: His tone turns teasing. ::Don't tell me you're tired of Groove already.::

::Nah, I'm never letting either of you go. That's not why I'm calling. Guess what! I've been approved!::

He knows what I mean instantly. ::That's great news, Isobel! I thought you would be, but I know it's been chafing on you.::

::Yeah, it has. And now I need your advice. I know who I want to contact first, who I should have contacted a long time ago really, but I don't know where he is. Can you help me?::

::Probably.:: A faint pause. ::You're going to find Sunstreaker, aren't you?::

::He's like a brother to me.:: I know Aid understands. ::I would have gone to see him already, but I didn't want to sabotage my chances of getting approval by stumbling into a psych session without the necessary rules in place.::

::I get it. They will, too.:: Aid's tone changes – suddenly he's all business. Medic-mode. ::I know where they are, and I'd like to come with you. Sunstreaker hasn't let himself be examined by a medic since right after the battle against Shockwave. With you there, I stand a chance.::

::I'll hold onto him if I have to,:: I promise. Not that I think it'll work for a moment. Sunstreaker's probably heads and shoulders taller than me and at least twice my mass.

::I'm off-shift in a few days,:: Aid continues. ::Can we go then?::

::Send me the date, I'll put it in my schedule,:: I confirm. ::We need to make sure Streetwise can come too, though. I'm not allowed to drive anywhere without him.::

::I'll take care of it.::

::Thanks, Aid. Love you.::

::Love you too. Both of you.::

I smile at that. I'm not sure how Groove and First Aid love each other, really, if it's the way a human would expect brothers to or if it's more intimate. I have faint memories of First Aid saying he sometimes interfaced with his gestalt.

Well, I'm in prime position to find out.

::We love you too. And Groove says we should try sparks next time you join us.::

He laughs. ::He loves that. And I'm going to have a hard time focusing on my shift now.::

::I'll let you be, then. Night, First Aid.::

::Night, love.::

I offline my optics and burrow close to Groove. He's covered me up with a blanket at some point without me noticing.

"All good?" My head is nuzzled again.

"All good." I try and fail to suppress the yawn – this body doesn't need it, but it feels like I do. "And now I'm going to recharge. Night, Groove."

"Night, Belle. Pleasant dreams."

I don't know how much Cybertronians dream. But I'm fairly sure Groove can keep nightmares at bay just by being there. He's simply that good.

Not sure how I got lucky enough to get two good mechs. But I'm not complaining.

Especially not when Groove begins softly humming an Earth lullaby. He strokes my back slowly, gently. Soothing.

It's nice to see things finally begin to fall into place. Now I just have to track down my errant brothers, and get a proper office, and I'm all set.

Things are finally falling into place.

* * *

 **A/N: Skywarp and Bluestreak now have their own sidestory to this one! It's posted on ao3, same username, story's called "My trust in your hands".**


	5. Brother

I watch as First Aid puts his kit together. Double-checks levels, packs extra of some things, removes others entirely and replaces some tools with different ones. Ratchet's here too, hovering, but it's clear that this is something he expects First Aid to manage on his own. And that First Aid is more than capable of doing so.

"Comm me if you need to," Ratchet says, for the fourth time. "They shouldn't be in too poor a shape, unless they've been picking fights with Cybertron itself. But half a vorn or so of neglect will have wreaked havoc on their systems."

First Aid nods. "Okay, Ratchet." Like it's not the fourth time he's heard all that. And that's just since I walked into the room.

"At least they're together," Ratchet grumbles. "That'll have helped. Wish we could have reined them in and kept them here after Isobel woke up, though, it would have made everything simpler."

"Yes, Ratchet."

"And _you_." He pins me with a stare. "No speeding. No overtaxing your systems. You've never been in alt mode for that long before. You've never gone fast before."

"Sure, Ratchet." I try for a reassuring smile – not that it helped the last two times he gave me that speech. Today.

Ratchet is apprehensive about both of us going into the wilderness to find Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. I guess we all are, for different reasons.

First Aid is only a little nervous, and though some of it's on my behalf he's admitted he's also worried about what kind of state they're in. He's not too keen to do emergency repairs out there in the dust and grit.

Streetwise is nervous too, for the twins' reactions to getting unexpected visitors. Groove ribbed him a bit yesterday, teasing him about being scared to drive with me. Streets shot him down, of course he did, but I wouldn't be surprised if that's part of it even so. I bet Streetwise feels responsible for me, since Ratchet decreed he should escort me until I was okay on my own.

I'll be careful, though. It's not like I want to get hurt.

I'm maybe the most nervous out of all of them. How much will this require of me? How far has Sunstreaker gone? Pit, how far has _Sideswipe_ gone to keep Sunstreaker sane? Will they even let me close? Will I be able to get them to come back with us?

There are so many unknowns here, it's unnerving.

Finally, First Aid seems satisfied with the content of his kit. He subspaces a few cubes of energon and coolant, hands some to me for me to subspace as well, and then we wave goodbye to Ratchet and head down the ramp and outside.

Time to go get my errant brothers.

I transform, dropping to my wheels next to Streetwise. "Ready to go?"

He chuckles. "I don't know why you're so eager. It's a long, dusty drive. You remember the rules?"

"Got them." Surprisingly, the Cybertronian traffic rules are familiar. I guess common sense transcends species.

"Good. I'll be in front, then you, then First Aid. Okay?"

"Yes, sir." I exaggerate the title slightly – if I was in root mode, I'd salute too, just for the heck of it.

Streetwise laughs. "Great. Let's get going."

* * *

As soon as we get past the town border, I'm happy I'm on two wheels and not four. The roads are in an appalling state. It's clear that the restoration's mainly been focused on the town itself, not the surrounding area.

It feels a bit like my first driving lesson's turned into a baptism of fire. I keep dodging holes and cracks, and the road's as far from a flat surface as it can be and still deserve to be called a road. It's uneven at best and dangerous at worst, sometimes slanting sharply enough to either side that I half worry I'll slide off and into the gaps in the planet surface.

"Okay there, princess?" Streetwise has a harder time of it than me and is more careful, picking his way slowly across the surface. I'm learning a lot just by watching him, about what will carry my weight and what won't, and how far against the side of the road I can go before I'll start sliding. By the sound of it First Aid have to be even more careful, and he's probably half the reason Streetwise is going as slow as he is. Medics are heavy.

"Offroading was never my forte," I manage while swerving around a long split. "I'm getting plenty of practice in now, though."

"You're doing well," First Aid praises from behind me. ::And you're seriously hot to look at when you move like that.::

I'd blush if I could. And I'm grateful that First Aid said the last part of that over comms.

Not that the gestalt bond kept any of it secret, judging from how Streetwise is snickering.

We drive for the better part of an hour, Cybertron's new sun passing overhead. The dust and grit of the road becomes an annoyance, then a frustration, and I'm starting to long for a break. I can feel myself getting tired. I'm not used to driving for this long.

"Streets? We there soon?"

"Not too long, princess. They're holed up in a cave system not far from here."

Well, that's a relief. Though I wish I knew what constituted 'far' in Streetwise's opinion.

I pick my way past the shards of something that looks like half a collapsed building, deeply embedded in the ground. "Hey, Streetwise? Why do you call me princess?" It isn't a new thing, though I always thought it was a bit of a joke. And when they used it as my codename when slag hit the fan – when Megs hit the tarmac in a gazillion pieces – it kind of made sense. Now, though? Not so much. Half the population of Pax Novum have probably never heard the name before.

"Because you're like Snow White. When you say something, Autobots flock to you."

I almost lose control of my wheels on the slick surface. It's all I can do to slide to a controlled stop. And still, with all that, I can hear the grin in his voice.

These Protectobots are all insane.

First Aid transforms and steps over to steady me. "Easy, love. You're not used to this yet." He shoots Streetwise an exasperated look. "I think we can walk from here, don't you, Streets?"

Streetwise transforms as well and shoots me a grin that can only be called impish. "Sure thing, Aid. It's just down here."

I look down the slope we're facing, and decide to let the Snow White comment go. For now. By the looks of it, I'm going to need all my concentration just to walk.

We follow him as he steps off the road, navigating the debris and chaos that hasn't been cleaned up yet. It's tricky going, and I'm glad I've gotten steadier on my feet, or we'd never get there.

Of course, I also have a really powerful motivation.

Realistically, the hike doesn't take more than ten minutes or so, but it feels like it's taking at least four times that long. When we get to the bottom, it turns out we've been scaling the easier slope of a canyon of sorts. There's still a bit of a drop to the canyon floor, though it's thankfully not so steep that we can't walk down. On the opposite wall, there's a dark, irregular opening. It looks like it might have been a tunnel once, but everything's collapsed and eroded to the point where it's barely recognizable as not natural.

"I'm going to ping them on an open channel, see if Sides is there," Streetwise says quietly. "Pinging them directly is no point, they won't answer."

"Isn't it better for Isobel to do it? Maybe they'd accept her?"

Streetwise is shaking his head before Aid's even done talking. "They don't have her comm code. They won't believe it's her. Best thing we can do is wait here, see if Sideswipe'll come out."

I can't look away from the cave opening. On some level, I register the ping – since Streetwise is using an open channel, everyone nearby gets it – but I'm barely conscious of it.

I'm just waiting for movement down there.

After a few moments, Streetwise pings again. It goes unanswered as well, and he sighs. "We may have to wait a while. He might be out."

"What about Sunstreaker?" I'm almost afraid to ask.

First Aid shakes his head. "Sunstreaker doesn't acknowledge comms."

That doesn't sound promising. The Sunstreaker I knew was withdrawn, but not reclusive.

First Aid sits down on a large metal block and pulls an energon cube from subspace. "Here, love. Might as well fuel up while we wait." There's a small smile on his face. "I know you won't let us leave until you've talked to them."

I take the cube. "Not unless we really have to."

"We're fine." Streetwise takes out a cube too and pings Sideswipe again. "Prowl took us both off shift for today and tomorrow. Bringing these two back is important. We owe them that much."

* * *

We wait for most of the morning. It's a slow wait – I snap back to attention every time Streetwise sends out a ping, and every time it goes without response it's a little harder to bear. I end up in First Aid's lap after the seventh ping, since it's easier to snuggle up against him when he's already cradling me. And I need the comfort right now.

I'm really scared that we're going to have to go back empty-handed.

The tense waiting lasts until just past noon, when a voice finally, _finally_ responds to Streetwise's ping.

::You know, you're annoyingly persistent.::

Streetwise's smile is the widest I've seen since Earth. ::Pays off in the end. Good to hear your voice, Sideswipe.::

::You're welcome.:: His tone is dryly amused and intimately familiar. ::So to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your visit?::

Streetwise doesn't let the insult get to him. Not that Sideswipe sounds all too serious. ::I brought someone who's been wanting to see you. Someone who's missed you for a while. You kind of vanished before she could find her footing again.:: He nods at me, and I take it as my cue to say something.

::Hey, Sideswipe.::

For a moment, there's utter silence on the channel.

::Isobel?:: It's almost a whisper.

I fight my emotions back. ::Yeah, it's me. I wanted to see you.:: I look up at First Aid. ::First Aid is here too.::

::Of course he is.:: Sideswipe's voice is fond. ::Fine. Give me a minute to talk to Sunny, then come on down.::

I am so relieved I can barely manage to stand up. Streetwise has to give me a hand. He keeps hold of it as we navigate down the tricky slope, leaving First Aid to wrangle his way down behind us.

Just as we get to the canyon floor, Sideswipe walks out of the cave. He shoots me a familiar smile and holds out his arms.

I run to him.

Well. Stumble. I haven't really gotten to running yet.

"Hey, girl," he murmurs as he catches me. "It's so good to see you."

"Likewise." I stand up on tiptoe and press a kiss to his cheek. "Can I come in?"

"Can we all come in?" First Aid says from behind me. "Sideswipe, Ratchet asked me to do a maintenance check on you. And your brother, if he'll let me."

"Can't speak for Sunny. He might, once this one's talked to him for a bit." He winks at me. "But yeah, sure. Can't upset the Hatchet." He looks at Streetwise. "You might want to wait outside, though. It's not personal –"

"- but he's not too keen on company, and just these two is pushing it," Streetwise finishes for him. "Yeah, I get it. It's fine. Comm me if you need me, okay?" He pulls a crate close to the wall and drops down on the makeshift chair. "I'll just wait here."

"Thanks, Streets."

Sideswipe takes my hand and leads me into the cave, with First Aid following right behind us. It's dark at first, crunchy underfoot, and I'm tempted to turn my solitary front-light on – I would, if Sideswipe hadn't seemed so confident in where he's going. He never falters, following the twists and turns effortlessly.

I'm not prepared for the faint light that meets me as we round a tight corner. My optics take a moment to calibrate, leaving me effectively blinded. I take care not to let go of Sideswipe until I can see again.

"Whoa."

"Yeah." Sideswipe smiles proudly at me. "We actually really like it here."

I nod. "I can see why."

Calling this room a cave would be almost sacrilege. The walls are perfectly even, and every inch of them is decorated with abstract whorls and swirling color. Even the ceiling's been painted. The floor on one side of the room is covered in cushions and soft materials, while the other side has three doors – actual, physical doors, not just open hallways.

This isn't a cave. It's a home.

"We can do the check-up in here," Sideswipe says, looking at First Aid and nodding to the closest door. "That's my study. Middle's the wash rack – solvent isn't exactly warm, but it's at least flowing. I managed to connect it to the building above with a bit of creative tunneling. And Sunny's study's on the far side there."

"It's impressive." First Aid opens the door to the first room. "Should we get started?"

"In a bit. I want to take Isobel in to meet Sunny first." Sideswipe's optics meet mine, and he's suddenly serious. "Sunny's hurting bad, Isobel. I just want to warn you. He's… He's worse than you've ever seen him."

I frown. "He looked awful when I first woke up."

"Yeah, and that was a good day." Sideswipe sighs and takes my hand. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

First Aid gives me a concerned look. I know he doesn't want to ask if I'll be okay, but it's there in his optics. Not that he has anything to worry about. Sunstreaker would never hurt me, not on purpose. And I know most of his triggers by now, so I know what to avoid.

I nod at him. "It'll be okay."

It takes him a moment to nod back. He's still apprehensive, it seems. "Okay. I'll just wait in your study, Sideswipe."

"Sounds good." Sideswipe tugs at my hand. Together, we walk through the far door.

I'm not sure what I expected. But I know it wasn't Sunstreaker, cowering in the far corner, obsessively running a cloth across his arm plating over and over. His optics are almost white, and I can tell from here that he's overheating. I don't know how Sideswipe's managed to stay so calm when his brother's in such a state.

"Sunny," Sideswipe calls softly. I can tell he's only talking out loud for my benefit. Sunstreaker's head actually shoots up in surprise, he's clearly not used to hearing Sideswipe's voice anymore. "Sunny, look who's here."

I take that as my cue to edge out from behind him. "Hey, Sunstreaker."

Not a glimpse of recognition in those optics.

::Doesn't he know it's me? I thought he'd recognize the frame?::

Sideswipe sounds confused. ::I thought he would too. But maybe he's too stressed today.::

I take a step closer. Sideswipe doesn't hold me back, which is a good sign, but Sunstreaker is just staring at me, unmoving. "Sunstreaker. It's Isobel."

That gets me a frown. It's like he recognizes the name, but the name doesn't match what he's seeing.

Maybe he actually doesn't remember this frame.

::Will I freak him out if I transform?::

::Nah. I've got him.::

I assume he means through their bond, since he's still standing behind me. It's reassuring anyway. I step back against the wall and activate my transformation cog. Then I call up my holoform.

My more familiar self, as it were.

I can tell it works on Sunstreaker too. His optics widen, mouth dropping open slightly, and then he stands up abruptly and moves away from the wall, giving himself enough room to transform. His transformation is not the smooth, elegant thing it was on Earth – it lags, here and there, parts of his frame grinding against others.

He desperately needs maintenance.

His holoform, though, is as perfect as it's ever been. It appears right in front of me, dark-eyed, stricken, and collapses against me.

I brace against the weight of the now sobbing holoform. "Shh, sweetie. Yeah, it's me. I'm here."

Behind us, Sideswipe opens the door again and gestures towards the mound of pillows. I get the meaning, though I don't know why he assumes we can actually scale them in these forms. There's a blanket, though, as thick as an Earth mattress, that should do the trick.

"Come on, Sunny," I murmur, trying to get him to move. "Come and sit down with me."

Sideswipe watches until I've gotten his brother's holoform to where I want him. Then he points at the room First Aid's in, clearly meaning to go get his check-up done.

I nod. It's just as well that he isn't here right now. I'm going to need some time alone with Sunstreaker.

* * *

It's an hour later when they come back out. Sunstreaker's finally calmed down – he's almost asleep, heavy in my lap.

I frown at the two tall robots. ::You two owe me one pit of an explanation. This is much worse than you let me believe it was.::

::I didn't know it was this bad,:: First Aid replies. He looks as annoyed as he sounds. ::I doubt Ratchet did either, or we wouldn't have left you alone this long.::

::It's… I've tried to keep him level.:: Sideswipe sits down on a pillow, taking care not to jostle me. ::He's got good days and bad days. Sometimes he's almost like his old self, and sometimes I can't even reach him over the bond.:: He looks at me intently. ::Can you help?::

::I'll try.:: Of course I'll try. Sunstreaker's my brother. ::But I need to know how this happened. And how long it's been going on.:: I frown at Sideswipe. ::You need to tell me everything.::

First Aid sits down against the wall, taking some energon cubes from his subspace and giving one to Sideswipe. It's clear that he means to listen as well.

I keep my hand moving on Sunstreaker's hair. He clearly needs the recharge.

::So Sunstreaker was pretty upset when we left Earth,:: Sideswipe begins with a sigh. ::I didn't even realize how upset. We took that drive, speeding around the base all night, and I thought he'd worked most of it out of his system. But he'd just buried it down deep.::

::How didn't you notice?:: First Aid asked, more curiosity than criticism in his voice. ::We always catch that kind of thing in each other, and you two are closer than we are.::

::We have long practice being bonded.:: Sideswipe shoots him a grin that almost looks real. ::We've learned how to conceal stuff from each other.:: He pops the seal on the cube. ::First, he hid it by being really focused. Training. Preparing for the fight. Then, when we actually were getting ready to go home, he let the battle lust take over.:: Sideswipe winces. ::That was probably a mistake. Because he didn't come back from that. He almost went berserker on the drones and the rest of Shockwave's troops, and then he didn't calm down after we'd won either. When Ultra Magnus and Ironhide tried to get him to snap out of it, he attacked them. Landed Ultra Magnus in medbay with shattered struts, burns to his protoform and a torn-off arm.::

I try to imagine that and can't. Ultra Magnus is as big and solid as Optimus – not someone to let himself be beaten in combat. Sunstreaker's probably heads and shoulders shorter and barely half his mass. It's hard to believe.

::That should have landed him in the brig,:: Sideswipe continues. ::Or whatever we could drum up that passed for it. But he was still berserking, and when Prowl and the others tried to take him down he fought them off and fled. We were actually lucky he didn't kill anyone on our side.::

I look down at the sleeping holoform in my lap. He still doesn't look at peace – his eyebrows are pulled together, jaw tense, hands clenched in my shirt.

I can vividly imagine him fighting for his life like that.

::I followed him, of course. Kept on his heels as he drove, day after day after day. He didn't attack me, though the moment anyone else showed up he was all aggression. When he finally began running out of fuel, he found this tiny crevasse in the valley side and squeezed his way in there.:: Sideswipe draws a shuddering vent. ::I thought for sure that was it. There was no way I could get him out of there myself.:: He looks at me, then at First Aid. Boldly, defiantly, like he's daring us to say he did something wrong. ::So I squeezed in there after him.::

Well. Clearly he knows that was an incredibly dumb thing to do. So I frown at him, but I don't say anything.

::Imagine my surprise when the crevasse widened to a decent-sized cave. Sunny had just dropped down in the biggest room, out before he even hit the floor.:: Sideswipe's optics locks on the sleeping form in my lap. ::He was exhausted. He's still exhausted. According to Jazz, he's running on such a high fight-or-flight response that even being awake is taxing for him. Jazz said he'd seen it before in spec ops agents.::

::I've seen it before in spec ops agents too,:: First Aid agrees. He gives Sideswipe a sharp look. ::I can't believe you didn't tell Ratchet about this.::

Sideswipe shoots an equally sharp look back. ::I told him when it happened. And then I made him promise not to tell anyone else. Anyway, I commed Prowl, told him where we were, asked him to let us stay here alone. It took a while – and a lot of arguments with Jazz and Ratchet – but in the end he agreed. On the condition that he'd be allowed to check in with me often and send someone out with supplies for us regularly. So we're kept with energon and coolant and some polish for Sunny, and the rest is up to me.::

I look down at Sunstreaker again. He deserves to not be stuck in a cave like this, to be free and unworried. And I don't know how to get him to realize that.

I miss my old skills so much right now, it's almost painful.

::I don't understand, though,:: I manage finally. ::How did this happen? Did he snap just because he left Earth? Left me?::

First Aid looks like he wants to dart over here and cuddle me flat. He manages to restrain himself physically, but I can hear the care in his voice when he speaks.

::Sunstreaker was already floundering before we even started talking about leaving Earth,:: he says softly. ::Do you remember how lost he was after we got you back from the Decepticons? And even before that, how he reacted when you didn't speak to either of them after they accosted you?::

::I still feel guilty about that,:: Sideswipe mumbles. ::And yeah, Sunny felt even worse.:: He turns towards me, gives me an entreating look. ::You have to understand something about Sunny. He feels inadequate all the time. Like he's not really good enough to be called an Autobot, like what's inside him is so bad that he doesn't deserve anything good or nice or even safe. He half expects everyone to attack him, and thinks no one would defend him, so he has to rely on himself. And it's hard. And if he learns I told you any of this he will beat me within an inch of offlining, so I'd prefer it if you kept this to yourself.:: First Aid gets a sharp look too. ::Both of you.::

::It's all confidential,:: First Aid murmurs. ::Isobel's operating under that clause as well.::

::Good. So all that stuff that happened with you on Earth…:: Sideswipe sighs. ::He already felt like he was worthless. Like there was nothing good to him except the will and strength to fight. And I've been trying to talk him out of that mindset, but it's hard. And when you got hurt… When we had to leave you…::

He doesn't have to say any more. I understand. ::He blamed himself.::

Sideswipe nods. His optics are focused on the sleeping form in my lap. ::He did.::

::So…:: I stroke the dark hair gently. ::Now that I'm here, maybe he'll snap out of it?::

::That's what I'm hoping for too,:: Sideswipe admits. He gives Sunstreaker a worried look. ::Not that it looks good so far.::

::Don't discount him just yet.:: First Aid's voice is soft. ::He's recharging, even if it's fitful.:: He straightens away from the wall. ::Would you mind if I scanned him while he's like this? I won't go close, and I won't plug in, I'll just do a shallow scan. I'd like to know if there are any problems I need to know about.::

::Yeah, I guess.:: Sideswipe looks doubtful. I bet he's mainly worried, though. Not about what First Aid, specifically, but he's gotten so used to looking out for his brother now that it's his first impulse. ::Don't wake him.::

Got it in one. Good to know I still have something.

::I'll try very hard not to. He needs all the recharge he can get.:: First Aid frowns down at the sleeping Sunstreaker. ::I can tell that much even without scanning him.::

::His transformation sequence was really choppy,:: I offer. ::Looked like it hurt.::

::I bet it did,:: First Aid replies darkly. ::If he's got half the build-up in his seams that this one had…:: He points at Sideswipe with his thumb, and Sideswipe grins cheekily.

::Well, someone has to keep everything going around here. That's dirty work.::

I let them banter, the easy talk flowing around me. Sunstreaker's heavy and warm in my lap.

It's enough to make me drowsy. Which isn't a good idea at all. But I'm not used to driving as long as I did, and Sunstreaker's a comforting weight on me, and First Aid is here…

Staying awake is getting harder by the minute.

Aid comes back out of Sunstreaker's study wearing a grim look. ::He's recharging, but shallowly. And there are a whole slew of problems that need fixing. I'll have to come back when he's cognizant, get his consent to performing repairs.:: His optics land on me, taking in my slumped position, my heavy eyelids, and he walks closer. ::You can lie down, love. We'll be here a while yet. You can sleep.::

I'm not going to need being told twice. Not with my eyes barely open as it is. I curl around Sunstreaker's form, settling in against the blanket mattress, and let myself drift off.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I wish there was more than one of me, so I could be several places at once. Then I'd leave one of me with Sunstreaker on a permanent basis._

 _But I guess one miracle is enough for one lifetime._

 _We stayed with the twins all day and well into the next. Streetwise went home to spend the night back in a bed instead of on the floor against the cliff side, which was probably a good idea. And I spent almost all the time with Sunstreaker curled up in my lap._

 _He needs me so much right now. It hurt to leave._

 _I'm going to set aside at least one day a week to spend with Sunstreaker. Maybe even two days, letting me spend the night. The way he cuddled against me, the way Sideswipe did as well at one point, I don't think they'd mind._

 _I'm going to need to step up my driving practice too. Can't keep relying on Streetwise having time to escort me everywhere._

 _I'm trying to tell myself we're at least going in the right direction. And that baby steps are steps too._

 _It's just hard when I see Sunny's desperate optics every time I close my eyes._

* * *

Pax Novum isn't that hard to navigate. The streets are fairly logically laid out, and there aren't too many of them either.

Despite that, it takes me three tries to find the little building Bumblebee commed me about. It turns out it's practical to know the mechs who do the scouting – they're the first to find the empty buildings.

And this one may just serve my purpose.

It's small, only three stories, and situated on the outskirts of the rebuilt area, slightly away from the residential district. The building across from it is full of Neutrals, running some form of crafting shop, and down the road I can just spot Ratchet's hospital in the distance.

The location is good. It might suit.

I'm just done looking over the first floor – two rooms that look like offices, one that looks like a reception area, a few storage closets – when a cheerful voice calls my name.

I try to brush the dust off my fingers. It doesn't work, of course; I just end up spreading it around more, turning my pale plating grey. Since it's not like it matters much, I just leave it.

"Hey, Cynosura! You in here?"

"Back here!" I holler back. I know the voice, and even if I didn't, Pax Novum is supposed to be safe. Jazz would probably frown at me for being too careless, but I refuse to be afraid of the world in general. "Come on through!"

Smokescreen pops his head in through the doorway and grins at me. "You might need a receptionist if you're going to hide away back here."

I rub at the dust on my forearms. "I've been thinking to hire one. Soon as I make enough to pay them. So?" I throw out my arms to take in the full space. "What do you think of the place?"

"Needs a thorough cleaning," he muses, looking around. "Still, it has promise. I assume it's structurally safe?"

I nod. "I got the Constructicons to give it a once-over before I walked in here."

"Good girl." He flashes a smile at me. "So this is your new clinic, then?"

"I hope so." I pick my way through the dust and debris and walk past him out into the hall. "I need to check out the other two stories before I decide." And then I need to talk to Moonracer and Ultra Magnus, see if it's okay that I claim the space.

"Let me come with you," he offers. "Just in case."

Smokescreen apparently feels the need to protect me. I'm not going to deny him that if he needs it – and anyway, it's not like it's a hassle to let him accompany me.

Together, we scout out the rest of the building. The second floor is more offices and a big empty space that Smokescreen says is a common room of sorts. The top floor is one large open room, with a high ceiling and large open windows.

My brain goes 'artist studio' instantly. Looks like I have an extra reason to entice Sunstreaker back to civilization. However long it takes.

We're both covered in dust by the time we're done, but I'm satisfied. I've found my office building – provided the administration agrees, but I don't think I'll have too much of a problem. They all want me working.

Smokescreen hands me an energon cube. It's already sprinkled with something silvery and probably sweet, if I know Smokescreen right, and I accept it gratefully.

"So," he says conversationally. "When do you think you'll be in business?"

"As soon as possible. Just have to get the place fixed up first." I sip at the – yep, sweet – energon. "It can't be too soon, to be honest. There are so many people here who need the help." I sigh. "I really wish I could remember more of the stuff I knew back on Earth. So much got lost when I got my new form."

Smokescreen stares at me. Then he facepalms, hard enough that the clang reverberates around the room. "I am such a slagger."

"Um. Okay?" I look at him, bemused.

"I've had this in my subspace for ages," he groans, dragging his fingers down his face. "I meant to give it to you already, but it completely fled my mind." He dips into his subspace, pulls out a clear flat box. There's a row of data chips inside.

The label on top says 'Earth psych'.

"Smokescreen, what is this?" My voice is low and just as unsteady as I feel. If this is what I think it is…

He shrugs, almost a bit embarrassed. "I kind of like the discipline. It fascinates me. I didn't really have time to do anything about it before we left Earth the first time, considering Megatron in pieces and all that, so I took care to download everything when we came back to pick you up." His finger taps against the box lid. "This is everything the internet had to offer on psychology and psychiatry. Every article. Every book. Every case study. Everything that was available online, free or not. I've been reading some of it, but a lot of it's too complex for me." He hands me the box. "I figure you might be able to make use of it."

I feel like I'm going to cry. Or throw myself at him. Or both. "Smokescreen, this is… This is amazing." Okay, crying it is. Giddy tears, coming right up. "This is going to help so much, you have no idea."

"Good." He smiles and puts his arm around my shoulders, mindful of the handle blades. "I'm glad. You're right that there are so many who need help."

There's something in his tone. Like he's fishing for something. He looks expectant too, and a bit hopeful.

It takes me a moment to get it, but when I do, it's blindingly obvious.

"You want to learn more," I guess. "You want to help out."

He shrugs again, gives me an apologetic smile. "I know I don't have any credentials. But I'd like to learn. It feels like something that's right for me. And it would be good if it wasn't just you who knew this stuff."

"That's true." I take a moment to think it over. Smokescreen's a good guy, even with his penchant for gambling – which also means he already knows how to read mecha. And there are sessions he can sit in on, if we get him some form of apprentice clearance…

My mind is suddenly going a million miles a minute. There are so many possibilities opening up.

"I'd need to talk to Ratchet and Ultra Magnus about it first," I decide. "But if they agree, I'd take you on as my apprentice. I'd appreciate the extra hand with the group talks, at the very least, and then we'll see how it goes."

"Great!" He looks almost ecstatic, which is adorable, really. His doorwings are fluttering just like Bluestreak's does when he's excited about something. "That's awesome. Thanks!"

"Thank you. Without this…" I open the box, look at the chips inside. "I've forgotten so much. And I was working in a fairly narrow field. If this is truly everything… You just gave me the means to help so many more mecha."

"It should be everything. And you're welcome." He frowns down at my fingers, picking at one of the chips. "You can download them directly into your processor, they're safe, but don't do that unless you have First Aid or someone watching you. It's a lot of information, and I don't know your processor specs. You need to make sure you can handle the influx before you try to integrate it all."

"Consider me warned." I'm not much of a pro on my frame either, so having my Protectobot there – maybe both of them, even – would be good.

Besides, I've been meaning to drag both of them to my place to see if we can really fit three mecha on my berth.

For now, I close the box and subspace it. Then I stand up and hold out a hand for Smokescreen. "Come on. Let's go see Ratchet and Ultra Magnus."

He laughs as he takes my hand. "Maybe we should swing by a wash rack first? I don't think any of them will appreciate us dragging all this dust into their impeccable domains."

"Good idea." I look up at Smokescreen – he's just barely taller than me. My partner in crime, so to speak, if everything goes well. The prospect of having someone working with me is more of a relief than I had thought. "You're going to work out fine."

We're both going to work out fine. And I'm going to find a way to help Sunstreaker.

It has to be on those chips somewhere.


	6. Practicing

_Dear diary,_

 _It's taken a few weeks, but things are finally beginning to fall into place. My office building's almost completely renovated. I've picked up a few decorations from the craft shop opposite - there's one femme there called Threadweaver who makes the most amazing tapestries I've ever seen, all silk-soft metals. Gorgeous._

 _Hopefully my soon-to-be clients will appreciate the bright touches as well._

 _I get spending credits now, since I'm officially on the city payroll as a medical specialist. It's not much, all things considered – comparatively less than I made on Earth – but I don't need much. My fuel's free, I don't have to pay rent, so anything I earn can go to supplies and luxuries. It's nice. Eventually, though, I really do hope to make enough money to hire someone to be at the front desk. Or to convince Ultra Magnus to hire someone. It's exhausting, running from the back offices to the front every time someone shows up._

 _Smokescreen's apprentice position finally went through, which means I can start teaching him. Down the road, I plan for him to have the other office on the first floor. I don't quite know what to do with the second floor offices yet, but the big room will be perfect for group sessions once I'm done fixing it up. My building is cleared for 'non-clinical medical practices' – and yes, that's Ultra Magnus-speak –which means I can't just let anyone use the space. There has to be a medical purpose, and not one that requires actual physical repairs._

 _Smokescreen's paid by the government as well, though he only gets an apprentice's salary. It's a good sign in every way. Not just for Smokescreen personally, though I'm glad he gets to pursue something that interests him. It's a good sign for my practice. Because Smokey'll be fully trained at some point, which means – maybe – that I can take on another apprentice. Maybe he can, too._

 _Maybe we'll have a full team of psychology specialists here in a few vorn. It's not too farfetched._

 _I've been going to see the twins twice a week. It's a bit more often than I'd intended, and I will have to cut back to once a week once I get my practice up and running, but it's been worth it. Sunstreaker's finally starting to calm down some. It's not much, but I'll take a Sunstreaker who smiles at me and gives me a hug over a Sunstreaker who's half terrified out of his wits any day of the week._

 _I still have plans to let him use the top floor. Not by himself – I can't do that, since the whole building is classed as medical. But I'm going to set the space aside for creative arts therapy. I don't think Sunstreaker's the only one who would benefit from that._

 _Those chips Smokescreen gave me have been extremely helpful. First Aid helped me integrate all the information into a specialized storage section of my processor, meant to hold medical information, and helped me cordon off another compartment for patient files. That one's gotten extra firewall protection and some form of safeguard to keep the information in there from leaking into my general cortex. It's apparently a copy of what First Aid has._

 _At least that's what Aid said. I'll take his word for it, since I'm still not sure how my brain works and doubt I ever will be._

 _In a few days, I'm going to be listed as an available medical specialist and can begin seeing clients. Ratchet has reinstituted the referral system we used on Earth, and he assures me I won't be idle, which frankly scares me a little. I just hope he knows what he's doing._

 _At least he seems to have faith in me._

* * *

Ratchet most definitely has faith in me. More than I do in myself. Maybe even more than I can handle.

Because my first official client is a red and black and very shiny Decepticon, standing in my new office with a resigned air and his hands cuffed in front of him. I don't understand why he needs the cuffs – you'd think that having Ironhide standing behind him with a rifle aimed at his head would be incentive enough not to do anything stupid, even for a Stunticon.

At least Ratchet kept up his moderately informative referral notes:

 _Dead End is resigned to everything. He doesn't seem to think he has any choice in any matters, and a short lifetime of being bossed around and abused by his psychotic team leader and gestalt "brothers" as well as his superior commander hasn't helped. Neither does being in jail, where he is only because this particular gestalt is collectively too insane to be out in public._

 _This one's just a kid, Isobel. I believe we can turn him around._

Oh yeah, maybe too much faith in me. I remember my briefing on the Stunticons.

That said, of course I'm going to give it my best. I'm just glad Ratchet started me off with one of the calmer ones.

"Welcome, Dead End." I keep my voice friendly and neutral. "Would you like to sit down?"

He shrugs. "Not like it matters."

"Sit down, kid," Ironhide says gruffly.

I nod towards the cuffs as Dead End sits, give Ironhide that look that Groove says is my I-am-in-charge-here look. "How necessary are those?"

"Mandatory, if he's going to spend time outside of his cell." Ironhide doesn't sound like he's going to budge on that. "He's had his weapons disabled, his subspace cleared, but he'll still be cuffed." Looking down at the young 'Con in the chair, he seems to relent somewhat. "I don't think he'll give any trouble. He's not as bad as some of the others."

Dead End doesn't seem to care that we're talking about him like he's not there. Maybe he's used to that kind of behavior.

That's no reason to keep doing it, though. Time to get rid of the chaperone. "In that case, Ironhide, thank you for escorting him. Please wait outside."

The stare I get tells me more than I need to know about Ironhide's opinion of my mental state, but this is something that I refuse to budge on. I won't have a guard monitoring our session.

He gets it, at least. It's not like he's got a lot of choice. "Fine. Comm me when you need me to pick him up. I'll be in the front room."

After Ironhide has left, there's silence. Dead End doesn't say anything, just stares down at his own knees.

He really is very shiny.

"Would you tell me a little about yourself?" I try. I need him to talk if this is in any way going to work. Of course, he could do a Sunstreaker and spend all session in smirking silence, but that doesn't quite seem like Dead End's style.

Not that I'm all too sure what his style is yet. I'm hoping I'll find out.

He shrugs again. It's not a dismissive gesture, not from him, it's more like… Like 'whatever, I don't care'. Which is probably the picture he's trying to show, but I'll bet it's not the truth. "Not much to tell. Stunticon. Arm. Current residence, Pax Novum detention facility."

Not much to work with. "Do you share your cell with any of the other Stunticons?"

He gives me a wry look. "Right. Because that would end well. No, we're all in individual cells, in a row one after the other. It took them some time to figure out the order, too."

"So who's next to you?"

"Wildrider on the right." Another impassive shrug, a look out the window. "Breakdown in the end cell on my left. Motormaster's way down on the other end." So Drag Strip's next to Motormaster, then. I wonder how that works out.

Maybe I should visit the cells, see for myself. I'm sure if I ask Ratchet and Prowl they'll make psych evaluation a condition of their eventual release, which will let me in to see them even in their cells. Whether they want to or not.

"And that works out well?"

"Well enough."

I have my work cut out for me with this one. Maybe a different approach will help.

I look at his plating again. He preens slightly when he notices.

I gesture towards his frame. "So tell me about your self-care routine. How do you manage to stay that immaculate in a cell?"

That brightens him up a bit. He starts talking, explaining the differences between various types of wax and cloth and techniques. Every now and then, a detail about one of his brothers slip out. It's more illuminating than he probably realizes.

I let him talk about waxes and polishes for most of the session. When time's nearly up, I interrupt him gently.

"Thank you for telling me about this. Would you answer a question for me?"

"Sure. Not like it's going to make a difference."

That's a positive connotation, though, before he tries to bury it. I think Ratchet's right, we probably can turn this one around.

"Why do you keep this routine?"

He snorts. "Yeah, it doesn't mean anything in the long run, does it? But I figure, if everything's going up Unicron's rusty tailpipe anyway, I might as well look good doing it."

I try a smile. "Unicron's rusty tailpipe? That Wildrider rubbing off on you?"

"Probably." He almost smiles back. "His brand of crazy will rub off on everyone in the end."

"I guess we'll see. And our time is almost up." I stand and hold out my hand. He stares at it, like he doesn't know quite how to react, but soon he stands up too and reach out to clasp my wrist. He has to raise both hands to do it, because of the cuffs.

Progress.

I smile at him. "I'll see you next week."

* * *

I groan into the berth pad as Groove's strong fingers rub at the tense cables in my back. My shoulder blades are trembling.

"Tough first week?" His voice is soft, soothing.

"You can say that." I vent heavily as he moves down to my lower back. "Ratchet apparently believes in baptisms of fire." I've only had three days of sessions, and after starting me off with Dead End Ratchet somehow managed to squeeze in three Neutrals, a couple of the Autobots that were part of Ultra Magnus' contingent, house calls – well, office calls – to both Prowl _and_ Red Alert, and Bluestreak. A much happier Bluestreak, thankfully. He's found some way to cope, though he didn't tell me too many details. We spent most of our session catching up and hugging.

He's matured, since I saw him last. Matured, and settled somehow.

Bluestreak as my last session was a nice end to the work week, but I still feel like I've been put through the wringer.

Groove chuckles lightly. "You can do it. I have faith in you."

"Mm." I dim my optics again, surrendering to the massage.

I'm almost asleep when the door slides open. "Hey, you two."

"Hey, Aid. Long day?" Even greeting his brother, Groove doesn't pause in his ministrations.

"Longer than I like. Turns out, avian cassettes and rusty wiring are a bad match."

"Avian cassettes?" I turn enough to look up at him. "Laserbeak okay?"

"It was Ratbat, actually." First Aid caresses my cheek. "And he'll be fine. I left him with his family. He's still just a baby and doesn't have the reflexes to dodge when something collapses. I've recommended to Soundwave that he be given other duties, and that the demolition scouting should be left to Laserbeak and Buzzsaw."

"Poor Ratbat." I lean into the touch. "And I'm sorry you're tired. Though I am glad you're here."

"Me too," Groove agrees. "Do you know, we haven't had time together, all three of us, for weeks?"

First Aid nods. "I know. That's why I've secured us both a few days off, to match up with Isobel's off-shifts."

I turn around fully then. This sounds promising. "Oh, really? When?"

Aid's grin is almost feral. "Starting right now." He takes my hand. "I got a vidfile from Earth that you haven't seen. Apparently, Soundwave's been keeping tabs on Earth, and Rumble and Frenzy teamed up with Rewind and Eject to download as much entertainment as possible. They want to broadcast it here. I got this one as thanks for fixing up Ratbat. And I went by the café and got candies." He pulls out said candies with a flourish he must have learned from Jazz or someone. "Ready for date night?"

I squeal and make grabby hands at the treats. "Yes, please. Beyond ready."

Groove laughs as he steals a treat out of Aid's hand and pops it into his mouth. "I'll go set up the entertainment console."

* * *

I'm curled up on my new couch, Groove on one side of me and First Aid on the other, watching familiar superheroes darting across the screen in front of ever more improbable explosions.

"It might be a bit sentimental of me, but I'm really glad Marvel's still in business."

I haven't gotten to read up on my Earth history. I'm not sure I want to know all of what went on while I was gone. I'm a bit scared that it's all gone to Pit somehow. And I might be even more scared that nothing's changed.

At least the movie's reassuringly familiar, despite the fact that I've never seen it before. Minus a few technological advances and some fancy buildings I've never seen before, a lot is the same as it was.

"I don't think the humans would give up on their fantastic imaginations, no matter what happened," Groove says softly. "That's part of what I really liked about them."

His hand is stroking gently, softly over my arm. I lean into the touch. First Aid, already leaning on me, ends up even further onto my lap. He's heavy, but it's kind of comfortable.

On screen, what had been a heated, angry argument ends abruptly as Tony Stark's mask suddenly lifts and he tackles Captain America in the kind of kiss that's part aggressive assault.

I giggle. "They've made some progress on that front, at least. Openly gay superheroes on the big screen!"

"I never understood why your species was so rigidly gendered," First Aid muses. "I mean, I understand it. The biology of it makes sense. But I don't _understand_ it. There were so many opinions and mad comments, so much cruelty and bigotry. It's easier here."

I nod emphatically. "Anyone can love anyone, and it works. I agree with you."

Groove's hand is on my stomach now, teasing the cables. It's enough to send tingles of warmth through me, the heat focusing deep inside me.

On the screen, Cap lets out a moan that would have earned the movie an R-rating a hundred years ago.

"You know," Groove says suddenly. His face is so close to my audial that I can feel his lips moving. "There's something Aid got to try that I never did."

First Aid twists in my lap and looks across to his brother. "You can still try that. If she wants."

His voice has deepened to something that sends even more heat flooding my internals. Just the tone is enough for my fans to kick on.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but if you don't include me I'll just leave you to it and enjoy this unexpected superhero smut myself." I try to keep my tone even, but the heat's affected my vocalizer and I sound just as husky as Aid did. Dammit.

Groove's hands are suddenly roaming all over me, intent clear. "Oh, we'll include you." His tone would have given Earth me goosebumps all over. Then he moves away, standing up and putting some distance between himself and the couch before transforming. Suddenly the long-haired holoform stands there, pale jeans riding low on his hips, white short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned over his bare chest and stomach.

I can see a hint of golden hair tracing from his navel down under the lining of his jeans.

He holds out a hand. "Join me?" he asks simply.

I'm off the couch before I've even decided to move. "Oh, _Pit_ yes."

"What about me, dear brother?" The words may make it seem as though First Aid's offended, but I recognize that tone. That's the teasing, flirty First Aid, the one no one else gets to see. "Don't I get to join you?"

"You may," Groove allows graciously. He's smiling at me, and it's not his usual kind expression. There's something almost predatory in it.

Suddenly there's another warm body at my back, pressing me forward against Groove's bare torso. First Aid mouths my shoulder, pulling the straps of my top aside slowly.

It's a strange echo of the first time they both cornered me after I woke up on Cybertron. Though in a much more familiar setting. Skin to skin, I'm an old hand with.

"Who knew I had to turn into an alien before I got to have this particular human experience," I joke, as I finally run my fingers across Groove's chest. "Three of us together, I mean."

"You could have had this on Earth." Groove's voice is husky. "If you'd paid attention. And if I'd been more daring."

"I know," I breathe, and that's all I have time for before his lips are on mine.

Time kind of fades away, there, as I'm caught between my two Protectobots. I can't tell whose hands are whose, whose fingers it is that pull my shirt up and off, that tease open the buttons of my jeans and slide it down over my hips. When I try to reciprocate, their clothes melt away in my hands.

"Going to be so embarrassing if I end up vanishing like that," I murmur against someone's lips.

"Then don't," Groove replies, somehow behind me now. He licks up my neck, and I almost melt in their arms. "Come on, Belle. Berth."

"We can't get onto the berth in these forms," First Aid disagrees, nipping at my chin.

"True. Come on, Belle. Blanket on the floor."

I'm not hard to ask. At all. Not with both of them still teasing me with their mouths and their fingers, their clothing slipping away blue spark after blue spark and mine being tugged off by hands and teeth before dissolving on its way to the floor.

I'm putty in their hands.

It's Groove sliding into me first, slowly, gently, like he's afraid he's going to harm me if he goes too fast. His eyes are locked on my face, awestruck, drinking in every expression. First Aid is lying behind me, cradling me against his front, mouth still working on my shoulder, hands seeking out all the places he knows I like to be touched.

My holoform body reacts just like my old body did.

Groove groans, forehead resting against my clavicle, and First Aid's clever fingers have me arching into Groove's touch. It's bordering on too much already, my legs are trembling where they're locked around Groove's waist, and he's hot and heavy above me, mouthing at my throat and thrusting, thrusting. At my back, First Aid is panting almost as hard as I am.

It's almost bliss, almost perfect, almost, almost, _almost there_ –

"You know, love… The holoform's adaptable. I bet you can do stuff you never thought you could do."

 _Damn it_ , First Aid. I was _so close._

I let my irritation color my voice. Groove's gone still on top of me, inside me. "Really, First Aid? _Now_ 's a good time to experiment?"

He chuckles at me, the slagger. "Now's the best time to experiment, love. What better occasion could you ask for to find out if you could take both of us at once?"

My eyes widen. "Both of you at _once_?"

"Oh, I like that," Groove breathes. He pulls out partway, nuzzles at my chin. "What do you think, Belle? Care to try?"

I'm apprehensive, I admit it. It sounds like something that could easily hurt.

But I trust these two. And if First Aid says the holoform will adapt, then it probably will. I hope.

I nod. "Okay. Let's try."

"That's my girl." He pulls the rest of the way out and moves off me. "Sit up, Belle, and turn around."

I follow his directions, let him move me. Place my knees on either side of First Aid's hips. My hands on First Aid's shoulders. Groove pushes gently at my shoulders until I lean forward, hips canted, and can sink down onto First Aid.

My Protectobot is gorgeous, eyes half lidded, teeth pressing into his lower lip.

"Good," Groove purrs from behind me. His hands are warm on my upper back. "Now lean forward a little more for me."

First Aid lays back completely on the blanket and puts his arms around me, pulling me close. I'm flush against his chest, close enough that I can feel his heartbeat.

"Now I need you to relax, Belle," Groove murmurs. He's close enough behind me that I can feel the heat he's giving off, but he's not touching. Not yet. "Relax for me."

I do my best, but even so I tense up when his fingers touch me. Groove croons, stroking my back with one hand, relaxing me enough that his fingers can slip inside, one by one.

It's not painful. That helps me relax even more, until I'm a puddle on First Aid's chest again.

Then there's pressure against me, pushing up against me and First Aid both, as Groove slowly, slowly glides inside.

It's excruciating, but in a good way. I forget to breathe for a moment, forget where I am. All I'm aware of is that exquisite pressure, the fullness, unlike anything I've ever experienced before.

It seems to take forever before Groove's all the way inside. I feel impaled, almost, like there's no way they should both fit, but there's no pain. Just the sensation of just-this-side-of-too-much, of two hot pulses against mine, of being sheltered and cradled between both my Protectobots, stuck in the best way in the heat and the touch and the connection.

Then Groove begins to move, pulling out partly and thrusting back in, slowly, surely. First Aid moans underneath me, hands tightening on my hips, as he begins thrusting too, counterpoint to his brother but keeping the same rhythm.

I can't move. My muscles aren't working. It's all I can do to hold on to First Aid, keening, as I'm repeatedly filled in the best way imaginable.

It doesn't last long. And at the same time, it's neverending.

Groove tips over the edge first, groaning against my neck, lips and teeth pressing down on me. He's heavy for a moment, his weight pushing me down onto First Aid, and Aid grunts as his thrusts grow erratic.

When he goes over, I do as well. And I collapse against him, completely spent, completely sated.

For a few minutes, all we can do is lie still. Then Groove chuckles and slips sideways off of us. "Well. That was fun."

I groan. "Not moving." It's bad enough that Groove's pulled out, that Aid's softening inside me. I don't want this to end, I just want to stay connected to them forever.

… I want to stay connected to them forever.

The thought is new, and slightly terrifying, and I bury it deep to be examined again in daylight. I've learned enough from Ratchet and Optimus to know that it's not a decision made lightly.

But there is something we can try that's up the same alley.

"Hey, Aid? Now that you're here."

He hums at that, gives me a lazy smile and chuckling a bit at my choice of words, because he's quite obviously here. "What's on your mind?"

I manage to move my head just enough that I can see both of them at the same time. "Groove said something. That there was something we could try when you were here too."

I can tell when Groove understands what I mean. His smile brightens.

First Aid though, is still oblivious. He lifts a shaky hand and pushes my hair back. "Yeah? What was that, love?"

Groove catches my hand and kisses it. "She means sparks, Aid."

First Aid's face morphs from blissful to contemplative. "Give me a moment to check something."

He pushes me off himself, gently, then vanishes. I'm instantly cold, weird as it is that a holoform would feel cold, and roll over to lie against Groove. Behind us, First Aid transforms and stands up.

"I think he's checking your medical files," Groove whispers quietly.

I'm simultaneously annoyed and amused. I hope he's not comming Ratchet to ask if he can please merge with me. That would be beyond weird.

Whatever he's checking, it doesn't take long. When he turns back to us, he's smiling.

"You file confirms that you have an inhibitor installed. So we can definitely merge, if that's what you want." The smile turns shy.

I turn to Groove again, whispering into his ear. "What's an inhibitor?"

"A contraceptive," he whispers back. "Just in case."

Right. I'd forgotten about the whole baby robots aspect. I forcefully forget about it again, pushing it way down with that other thought to be examined another time.

First Aid still stands there, looking hopeful.

Groove chuckles. "If we're doing this, we should definitely move to the berth."

I pout. Moving doesn't tempt me.

… But the prospect of merging does.

"Oh, all right." I follow Groove's example and dismiss my holoform. It's a bit disorienting, being my metal self again, and I hold on to First Aid as I stand up.

Scratch that. I mold myself to him. I'm suddenly too cold and too… not recently fucked.

It's weird.

First Aid just smiles, though, as he does, arms encircling me and holding me tight. The smile turns to a grin, and he bends slightly. I have just enough time to wonder what he's got planned before he sweeps me off my feet. Literally.

Medics are freakishly strong.

"Be~erth," Groove singsongs, and by the sound of it he's already in my berthroom.

Our berthroom, maybe. Eventually.

The list of thoughts needing more mulling over later is growing long.

First Aid carries me easily through the doorway and deposits me on the berth. Groove's already there, reclined on his back, showing off gaping seams and hot angles.

My Protectobots are both gorgeous.

I'm suddenly nervous, though. This is something I have no experience with. For all that I don't know much about my spark, I know it's hidden behind thick plating for a reason. It's clearly not meant to be on display. And now I'm about to show it off and merge it to two others'.

It's a good thing that I trust these two with my life already.

"So how do we do this?" Thanks, voice, for sounding more steady than I feel.

"You on top, I think," First Aid replies. "Your back kibble might get in the way, otherwise. Then me and Groove will be the other points in the triangle."

"You sound like you've done this before." It's not quite an accusation, but it's not quite not one either. Sue me for being a bit self-conscious about this.

"Not three-way merges," Groove replied. "But five-way, we've done a few of."

Their brothers. Right. That's reassuring – and making me feel a little stupid.

"It's not something we do often." First Aid's frame is warm against my back. "But sometimes. When someone's been critically injured or something, it's…"

"Soothing," Groove finishes for him.

"So it's not romantic." I aim for nonchalant, but even I can tell that I miss.

"It can be. It can also be about just affection, and of course, it can be intensely passionate." Groove's grin turns roguish. "Depending on the mecha involved."

First Aid lies down and tugs at my hand. "Come on. Let's show you."

Somehow, we slot together almost perfectly. First Aid and Groove are shoulder to shoulder, supporting me above and between them with all our legs tangled together. We're forehead to forehead.

I don't think we could be closer together if we tried.

But then Groove's chest plating begins to slide apart, the narrow crack down the center of his chest widening to let pale teal sparklight flow out, and I know I was wrong. We're not close enough at all yet.

First Aid follows suit, his own sky blue blending with the teal, and then it's my turn.

If I can find the slagging code string. I know it's there somewhere, it's one of the ones Ratchet quizzed me on.

There.

The green light dances across their white plating, melding with theirs until we're all lit by this blue-green glow, and I don't know what to do next.

I can see Groove's spark, little tendrils and flares arching out from it, almost like his spark is reaching for the other two. First Aid's just as eager, blue light pulsing out of his chest, beckoning.

My spark is hiding. There is no reaching, no small green flares, no pulsing.

I don't know what to do.

Thankfully, as always, my Protectobots've got me. Groove lifts his chin slightly until he can reach my lips, nipping and sucking at me and enticing me down until I'm flat against them, the light smothered between our frames. First Aid nuzzles my cheek, his free hand stroking my back. "Don't be afraid, love. It's your first time, it's okay."

This close, I can feel the heat, the thrumming of their sparks underneath me. I rest my head between theirs, pillowed on their shoulders, and try to relax.

I can feel it when it happens. It's a small jolt, a zap, and suddenly my spark surges forward to meet theirs. The flares intertwine, green mixed with teal mixed with blue, and then we're not three entities anymore.

We're one.

I can feel them inside me. Not like earlier, not physically, more like… More like I've breathed them in, somehow, like they're _inside_ me.

I can feel First Aid, his care and love and how much I mean to him and I just want to keep him like this forever, forever a part of him inside me, never to be let go. And I can feel Groove, his trust and devotion and this pure, pure affection, my strength in the storm, the one we both lean on. And I can feel that they feel each other, absorb each other with ease born of long familiarity, effortlessly bringing me into it as well.

I'm caught in a wave of energy that slowly, slowly crests, and it's all I've ever dreamed of and all I could ever want and I never want it to end, not ever.

I'm drowning, cradled, sheltered, and I'm never letting go. Never being let go. Never.

The intensity fades slowly, until the feel of them is faint-almost-gone, and I mourn the loss every step of the way. I become aware of my overheating frame, still cradled between them, the labored venting not enough to cool me down.

And I'm apparently crying.

Groove's fingers are on my cheek, stroking and soothing, and First Aid's lips are soft against my forehead. It's comforting, the physical touch, because I feel as if I've lost them even though they're right there in front of me. They were just with me, and now they're so far away. I can barely take it.

"Shh," Groove sooths. "It's okay, Belle. First time's always intense."

I'm shivering, I notice, trembling in their arms, and First Aid's arm is a reassuring weight on my back. He shifts aside, letting me slide fully down on the berth next to him, and Groove moves to slot himself between my blades and cuddle in against my back.

It helps, but not completely. They're still too far away, still not inside me anymore, and I can't stop the shaking and crying, quiet though it is. Not until First Aid somehow manages to pull a blanket over all three of us, tucking me in between both their frames, close enough that my plating's protesting but still not close enough for my spark.

Then he begins humming.

It's a familiar melody, almost haunting at this point – a basic lullaby learned on Earth and crooned to a terrified, injured woman who was too traumatized to sleep. It sooths me now as it did then, and gradually, I relax in their arms. Groove's warm behind me, nuzzling my neck, and First Aid's warm and comforting in front of me. The shaking eases. The tears dry up.

I slip into recharge like that, sheltered and cradled between them.


	7. The other faction

A/N: Skywarp's and Bluestreak's story can be read in "My trust in your hands", which can be found over on my Ao3.

* * *

I'm light, almost floating, as I make my way down to my office. First Aid and Groove didn't let me go until we'd repeated our recent experience with sparks once more, and this time I handled it much better.

I think I'm getting addicted. Not just to the merging, but to them.

For once I've managed to secure the first appointment time of the day for myself – officially to put my notes into order, but unofficially to mull over a few things that need closer consideration.

Personal things. Relationship things.

If there's anything my recent experience with spark merging has shown me, it's that I want those two with me forever. And I'm pretty sure it's reciprocated.

I don't get very far in my planned rumination, though. I've barely managed to unlock the door to my office when there's a strange noise from the front room and someone calling my name.

Again, it's a someone I know. Though not a someone I'd expected to hear from today.

"Bluestreak?" I walk back into the front room, and sure, it's Bluestreak, Skywarp hanging off his arm and looking more than a little dizzy.

"Hey, Skywarp." I look over at him in concern. "Are you okay? You know I don't do actual physical repairs."

"I'm okay. Just tired. Could do with a cube, if you have any." He giggles again and drops gracelessly into one of the chairs. "Primus! It's been ages since last time I warped that many times in a row."

Well, I can do that at least. There's a small energon dispenser behind the front desk.

"We could have walked," Bluestreak chastises, but there's fond amusement in his tone. "Or flown, even."

Skywarp shrugs, his wings trembling. "So I'm eager. Not the worst flaw in the world."

Bluestreak smiles down at him, and I get the feeling I'm intruding on something intensely private. Even though they're the ones who're in my psych center, kind of intruding on me.

I hand Skywarp the cube. "So what can I help you with? I don't think the two of you need couples' counseling."

Bluestreak smirks at me and Skywarp laughs out loud. "No, we're good."

I know they are. Bluestreak told me all about it last week. And I'm thrilled they found something that worked for them. It's obvious to anyone that they're both better than they were.

"We're on a delivery round," Bluestreak announces. He pulls a stack of thin metal plates from his subspace with a grand gesture, fanning them out in a display. It looks like he learned from Smokescreen, I've seen him do the same with playing cards back on Earth. "Must get all these delivered as soon as possible."

"We went to your place, but Groove was the only one there," Skywarp supplies. "So he got his, and then we went by the medbay to get First Aid and Ratchet and the rest of them out of the way, and now we're here."

"Okay," I nod. "So what are those things?"

Bluestreak smile could have powered Cybertron. "They're bonding ceremony invitations. Ours, to be specific."

I sit down so fast it almost qualifies as a fall. I'm just lucky there was actually a chair there. " _Really?_ "

"Really really." Skywarp smiles up at his lover – mate, apparently, soon. "I finally asked. He said yes. And now we're making it official."

I'm back out of the chair, my arms around Bluestreak's neck before I've decided to move. "CONGRATULATIONS! Oh my gods, you two, that's amazing!" Skywarp gets his hug too, never mind that I've never actually hugged a Decepticon before unless you count Laserbeak, and she's so tiny it's more like cradling than hugging. Skywarp hugs back, laughing, and only lets go when I'm almost falling over into his lap.

And now I'm crying again. Primus.

"I'm so happy for you two!" And yeah, that's a squeal, but I don't care. This is the happiest news I've gotten since… I can't even remember.

Bluestreak smiles at me. He looks exuberant, like there's so much happiness inside him he's almost overflowing. I've never seen him like this before. "Thanks, Isobel."

He puts the stack of metal invitations down on the desk and spreads them out. They're all shiny, soft-looking for all that they're metal, and covered in intricate Cybertronian glyphs.

Except one that's in English. I can pick up both my names on it.

Bluestreak makes a grand ceremony out of extracting that one invitation and handing it to me. He's still smiling. "We hope you'll come."

"Of course I'll be there." Like there's even a remote chance I won't. I don't even care when it is, I'll be there. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

And besides, a tiny voice in my mind adds, it'll be an excellent research opportunity for those thoughts I haven't examined too closely yet.

I ignore the voice in favor of beaming at the happy couple in my front office. "You know, I really am happy for you. I know I said that already, but I need you to know I mean it." Call me sappy, but I reach out and take their hands, one in each of mine. "I am so glad you two found happiness again. And extra glad you did it together."

Bluestreak blushes, bless him. Skywarp just smiles and uses my grip to tug himself back on his feet. "Thanks. Now, don't mean to rush off, but we have like fifty of these still to hand out." He takes Bluestreak's other hand. "Warp again, babe?"

"No." Bluestreak looks almost shy, all flushed and biting his lip. "No, let's fly."

I gather the invitations in a tidy bunch, making sure I still have my own, and hand them to him. "Have a nice flight!"

"Bye, Cynosura!" Skywarp waves and tugs his lover out the door. "See you!"

I can hear Bluestreak's laughter over the sound of Skywarp's transformation. It's really not spying to stand in the window, watching as Skywarp soars up with Bluestreak's form clinging to his back.

It is so good to see them happy.

I look down at the invite in my hand. It lists a time and a place and the occasion, nothing more. I guess I'd better ask Groove and First Aid how bondings are celebrated. I don't know if presents are traditional here too.

Well, even if they aren't, I'm getting them one. Not that I know what to buy. I guess I can ask Thundercracker; as Skywarp's brother, he's probably the best one to know.

Skywarp's brother.

It hits me then, what would be the best possible wedding present. Ratchet told me that Starscream is still incarcerated, for his own protection. He's still lost in his own mind, sometimes energetically living in the past, sometimes almost catatonic.

I put my invitation into subspace decisively. I need to consult my calendar.

It's time to start working with Starscream.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I spent most of this morning's empty session on the comm with Thundercracker. I'd like to be a little forewarned on what I'm getting into. Especially on such a complicated case._

 _Not that Thundercracker gave me all the details. He'd give me enough to help, he said, but a lot of it wasn't his to give. That's okay. I needed enough to get started, and then hopefully Starscream will let me know what we need to work on._

 _Thundercracker did tell me enough to know that this is a mess of a mech I'll be treating. Starscream is still locked up, under supervision day and night. He fluctuates between aggression and catatonia, between past and present, and he often doesn't recognize his surroundings – he'll make sense of whoever's there to visit him, but not why, and he doesn't believe he is where they say he is. He doesn't remember what happened to Megatron. Based on all of it, I suspect there's a dissociative disorder there at the very least, connected to the PTSD. But I need to see him to figure it out._

 _It may be the most complex case I've ever undertaken. Hopefully I'm up to it._

* * *

It's Silverbolt who takes me out to where Starscream is held. Thundercracker's ahead of us somewhere, getting ready to meet us when we arrive. He won't let me see Starscream without his supervision yet – not for Starscream's safety, but for mine.

I guess it's all the reminder I need that I'm dealing with someone who's not only mentally imbalanced, but also insanely dangerous.

It's not that new to me. I've worked with soldiers all my career, though not often as volatile as this one. Hopefully he's in a good mood today.

We land at a facility fairly far away from Pax Novum, on the opposite end of the hustle and bustle of the landing strip that doubles as a space port. It's much quieter out here, almost peaceful. At least if I disregard the ruins and dust and pieces of metal that I really don't want to look to closely at.

From the looks of it, someone did try at one point to clean up the walls of the building in front of us. But the scorch masks and shrapnel scars are still visible.

Thundercracker's roaring engines are almost deafening at close range, and I dial down my audials as he lands. Thanks, Jazz, for showing me that trick. Thundercracker transforms from blue jet to gorgeous root mode before he's even still, and he doesn't look happy. If anything, he looks kind of nervous.

"Thanks for bringing her," he offers to Silverbolt. "I know you had other things to do today."

"I'm doing a favor for my friends," Silverbolt says firmly. I don't miss the plural. "Hot Spot understands." He reaches out, puts a hand on Thundercracker's shoulder. "Good luck, buddy."

Thundercracker nods and steps back. The large door behind him slides open. "Come on, then."

I wave at the departing Silverbolt, then follow Thundercracker into the dark hallway. After only a dozen steps it changes, dark, matted walls turning white and clinically clean, bright lights illuminating the space.

At the end of the hall, it opens into another room. There are no other doors.

"This entire building was rebuilt for his use," Thundercracker explains. "There's the monitor room, a break room for the guards, and his space. That's it. We take him flying once a week or so, mostly me or Skywarp and then either the Coneheads or the Rainmakers. Sometimes Skyfire or Blast Off – they're not as fast as him, but they can break atmosphere. And Hook is on call. He should be here waiting for us."

While he's talking, we've entered the room at the end of the hallway. One wall is all screens, each one showing a glimpse of the apartment on the other side of the wall. Every now and again one of the screens flicker, switching to another view. The other wall has a large one-way window, currently dark. There are also two large monitors, bordering the open doorway to a room with couches and an energon dispenser.

There's a guard sitting at each of the monitors. To my surprise, I realize that I know one of them.

" _Cliffjumper_?"

He flashes me a grin. "Hey, Earthling. Fancy meeting you here."

"I can say the same thing! I thought you didn't…" There's no easy way to say it. "… like Decepticons much."

"I didn't." He waves a hand, the gesture somehow encompassing both Thundercracker and the bright green seeker at the other monitor. "But it's not that simple anymore. I've worked so much with most of these guys by now, I practically know their recharge patterns. So I figure we're all on our way to becoming Neutral anyway. Only exception," he spins on his chair so he faces the window, "is the one in there. So that's why I'm here, watching him. He's the only true Decepticon left."

"Not on purpose," Thundercracker says quietly.

Cliffjumper nods in agreement. "I know. Which I figure is why you're here." He looks up at me.

"Yes. Hopefully I'll be able to help."

Thundercracker looks towards the large window. "How is he today?"

The green seeker pushes a few buttons. "Have a look."

The window slowly turns from black to opaque to clear. I take a step closer curiously.

On the other side, there's a large bright space. One wall is entirely glass, and the others are white, reflecting the light. I can see a few low-backed couches, a vidscreen. A whole wall of shelves, each stacked full of datapads. There's a door at the end with hazard signs on it, and something that looks like a berth room opposite it.

And there's Starscream.

He looks just like the images I remember. Still handsome, still haughty and arrogant. He's pacing back and forth, gesticulating and sneering. I wonder for a moment if he's having an episode, but then I notice Hook. The Constructicon is standing quietly against the wall, looking down at a datapad in his hand and aiming a scanner at Starscream's moving form.

"He's in fine form today," the green seeker says, coming up to stand next to me. "Want to hear? I'm Acid Storm, by the way. Rainmaker trine."

I clasp his offered forearm. "Cynosura. Nice to meet you. And yeah, I'd like to hear what he's saying, if that's possible."

Both Thundercracker and Skywarp signed the form allowing me full treatment of Starscream. Which is good, because judging from what I hear, he wouldn't – and couldn't - have consented to anything.

"… simply appalling quality," he rants. "I don't know where Megatron found these dregs, it's the worst substance I've ever had the misfortune to work with. Are you finished yet?" The tone is snappish, mean. "My work is too important to be put on hold just because my imbecilic so-called leader requires more information!" He aims a kick at Hook, but it doesn't connect.

"Does he actually work?" I ask quietly.

"There's a lab behind that locked door," Acid Storm replies, pointing. "He works several hours a day. We don't give him anything dangerous, but he's still a brilliant mech, and he's making real progress in there. I think, right now, he's working on some form of energon refinement."

"He wants to clean up the refinement process, so we can refine faster and with less impurities," Cliffjumper puts in. He's still focused on his monitor. "He's doing good, too."

"I'm glad you let him work. Not just because he's actually making scientific progress, but because it's good for him." I watch the pacing seeker carefully. "He needs that connection to the real world."

"Ready to go inside?" Thundercracker looks at me anxiously. I suddenly realize that he's afraid I'll change my mind, now that I've seen what kind of state Starscream is in.

Fat chance. I want to _help_.

"Yeah. Let's go inside."

"Good." He looks so relieved, it's like he's almost a younger mech suddenly. "I'm just going to introduce you as another medic, okay?"

"Whatever you think is fine for now," I agree. I don't want to put Starscream on edge.

I follow Thundercracker through the monitor room into the break room. It's got the couches I noticed, but the room is much bigger than it looked. And the rows of rifles and other weapons along the back wall had definitely not been visible from the monitor room.

There are two more seekers in here as well. The look up as we enter, and though they're quick to settle again when they see Thundercracker they tense slightly at the sight of me.

"Nova Storm, Ion Storm, this is Cynosura," Thundercracker introduces. "Cynosura, meet the rest of the Rainmaker trine."

I clasp forearms with them. "Hello."

The bright blue seeker, Ion Storm, nods towards a heavy door at the end of the room. "Go on in. He's in a fine mood today."

"So I heard." I offer him a smile and get a tentative smile back.

So. Not hostile. Just careful. That's good.

Thundercracker enters the key on the code pad, and the door opens. Behind it, there's a smaller room with another keypad.

I glance at Ion Storm and gets another of those small smiles. "It's in case he finds the door and hacks the keypad. Not very likely, but we don't want to take any chances." He looks past me, towards where I bet Starscream is. "He wouldn't be safe out there."

There's something in his tone. "You still respect him."

"He's our leader. Our Winglord. He will have our allegiance until he perishes or is proven unworthy of it." He smiles again. "And now, he needs our protection."

They clearly care about him. Though I have to admit that, considering all the crazy things I've heard about Starscream, I do wonder what it would take for him to be proven unworthy of leadership.

Thundercracker is still holding the door for me. "Coming?"

"Yeah. Sorry." I smile at the two seekers in the break room and follow him through. The door slides shut behind me, and Thundercracker puts in the code for the second lock.

I'm a bit nervous at this point. Starscream is just a door away.

Well. Two doors, it turns out. Because behind the door Thundercracker opens, there's another hallway leading to a more normal-looking doorway.

Thundercracker speeds up a bit, long legs easily outpacing mine. He's got the other door open before I reach it, holding it open for me.

"Hey, Star," he calls, suddenly smiling.

"Finally!" The voice is shrill. "Someone with actual sense! Who's that?"

"This is Cynosura." Thundercracker beckons me inside, and I look at Starscream for a moment before bowing my head.

I figure a show of deference is probably a good idea.

"Another medic? Why?"

"She's just here to learn," Thundercracker replies, shrugging like it's no big deal to him. "How're things, Star?"

"Appalling." Starscream snorts, but he suffers the affectionate wingtouch from his trinemate with only a superficial show of reluctance.

They really don't do well alone.

I take a few steps closer. So does Hook, and he waves me over. "Here, Cynosura." He passes me a datapad. On it, there's a note, and it's clearly meant specifically for me.

 _The following information is only available to you because you've got medic's access. I know you know what that means, so don't abuse it._

 _Don't use comms, he'll sense it. We've deactivated his weaponry, but he's still lethal, and he's really smart. Don't try to interrogate him, he doesn't respond well to that._

 _Physically, he's in good shape. There are some issues with his coding, though, most likely caused by him editing his own code more than once. He had to do so to function. I've been his medic ever since we joined the Decepticon Cause, and he used to be a lot more stable. He's always been a genius, an excellent flier, and he does have diplomacy and leadership training in his background, but that never impressed Megatron._

 _He was Megatron's punching bag and his outlet. That meant frequent abuse, frequent rapes, both of frame and spark. More than any of the others suffered through. I believe he often offered himself to shield his seekers. I've reconstructed his wings, his cockpit, his face, every part of him more than once. He suffered through a lot of abuse in silence, and towards the end of the war he was in constant pain from old and new injuries that Megatron didn't allow him to have repaired. He may look pristine now, but that kind of abuse has left more marks than any one mech should live with._

 _Regarding his mental state:_

 _He was always a private mech. He may have confided to his trinemates, but I doubt it. He tended to react aggressively to any prying. But I do suspect he's been suffering for vorn, and just pushed through because he's stubborn and knew he was the only thing that stood between Megatron and his seekers – which is probably also why he didn't talk to anyone. Don't be surprised if there's old, old trauma there, possibly even from before he joined the Cause. He's also prone to acting out, so be careful._

Well. That's illuminating.

I turn my focus back to the conversation. It's way over my head – sounds like they're discussing wind patterns or something. For all that I don't understand it, it's illuminating too, in its own way. There's nothing in Starscream's talk that makes it sound like he's not in possession of his full faculties. He's sharp, decisive, eloquent…

… brilliant.

"… and for all that the idea is good, the currents of Vos would never work," he says. "We'd need somewhere with more of a downdraft. Somewhere like Kaon. But you know Megatron," again, the name is a sneer, "will never agree to us taking rations enough to essentially go trick-flying. Even if the plan is sound and will pay off. He doesn't care."

Thundercracker catches my optic for a moment. His words slow, like he's taking extra care to be clear, like he knows what he has to say won't go over well. "Star… Megatron doesn't decide for us anymore."

Starscream suddenly looks suspicious. "What do you mean? Is this some plot of Skywarp's? What kind of mad scheme has he come up with now?"

"It's not a scheme," Thundercracker tries. I move aside slightly, so I can see Starscream's face. "It's the truth, Star. You know I don't lie to you." He lifts his hands, puts them on Starscream's shoulders. "Megatron's gone, Star. He's dead."

For a moment, Starscream frowns on him. Then his face goes carefully blank. His optics unfocus. It's only for a moment, then he seems to almost shake himself and give Thundercracker a stern glance. "Don't lie, you say. That's a lie if I ever heard one."

I'm sure, then, that he does remember what happened. But he doesn't want to, so he's flinched away from it enough times that it's become almost a tic. He's repressed it.

I've got my work cut out for me here.

* * *

I spend all day observing Starscream. How he interacts with Thundercracker and Hook. How he works in the lab – that's a nice change, to see how proud he is of what he's accomplishing.

My mind is going a hundred miles a minute by the time we're finally getting ready to leave for the night.

Thundercracker is staying with Starscream for a few more days. That doesn't mean I'm alone, though. Hook is packing up as well, and though he's grumbling about having to hitch a ride on the baby jet, it's good-natured.

I'm actually glad he's traveling with me. He's an untapped well of information, and since we're both medic-classed, we can share information freely.

It's time to pick Hook's processor.

I call out to Silverbolt the moment I'm on board. "Hey, Silverbolt? Can you mute your internal audials for a while? Or whatever the equivalent is? We have medic things to discuss."

"Sure thing, Isobel." Bless Silverbolt, he's such a sweetspark. "Just comm me if you need something, okay?"

"Thanks, 'Bolt."

Hook looks at me with faint curiosity. "He still calls you Isobel?"

I shrug, my shoulder blades dipping. "Most of them do. It's hard to disconnect a name from a person." I sit down one seat down from him. "So. Way I see it, I can ask for files and information on my clients, and you have to give it unless there's a compelling reason not to. Am I right?"

"You are right." Hook watches me carefully. "What kind of medic things do we need to discuss?"

"I want to know how Megatron impacted your lives." I give him a stern glare. I've been watching Starscream pass those around all day, I can do a pretty passable version by now. " _All_ your lives."

Turns out Hook knows a thing or two about stern glares too. "You do realize I can't tell you anything about specific individuals unless they're your clients."

"Well, that's good. Because I'm not asking about any individuals, whether they're my clients or not." Stern glare for stern glare. I can win this yet. "I'm asking about _Megatron_. And since he's deceased, any lock on his files has been removed by now." I lean forward a bit. "Please. I need to understand."

He stares at me for a moment, then his glare softens. "Fine. Consider this a Decepticon history lesson." He leans back. "Let's see. Where to begin?"

It feels like story time with Skyfire back on Earth. I do have a feeling that this story is much grimmer, though.

"I wasn't there when it all started," Hook begins. "We were drawn in when the Decepticon Cause gained momentum. Megatron was passionate, idealistic, energetic, eloquent, strong - the revolutionary we needed at the time. He was easy to follow, because he was _right_ , and he believed in the Cause. He was charismatic enough to drag us all with him into the fight, and we followed him eagerly." He leans his head back, resting against Silverbolt's bulkhead. "He had this knack of surrounding himself with talent and skill. Soundwave was the first, of course, but he paved the way for the rest. Starscream and his trine. Deadlock. Us." He smirks. "A lot of disappointed, armed mecha that were all too willing to fight their way to freedom.

"Megatron was in his element, back then. A general, a fighter, someone who could light the fire and direct the explosion. He was untouchable. Invincible. And we fought for him. We were honored by his attention back then." He sighed. "It didn't start going wrong until later. When the revolution had turned to a war."

He turns to face me. "Here's what you have to understand about Megatron. He was an amazing revolutionary, but he sucked as a leader. As soon as the movement settled into an army, as soon as the uprising settled into a war, he started making bad choices. He stopped listening to his advisors."

"So how did he keep the Autobots at bay?" It really does feel like a history lesson. One I've only heard the other side of before.

"He managed because he was absolutely fearless. He'd attack when no one expected him to. He'd head into battle himself. And even then, he was this eloquent speaker that could whip the Decepticons into a battle frenzy in moments. But he wasn't a leader. Not like Starscream could have been, for example. And Starscream tried. But he was young when he joined, and had stars in his optics for Megatron, and didn't argue as hard as he should. By the time he found his backstruts and started protesting for real, it was too late.

"When we crashed on Earth, everything took a turn for the worse. Suddenly Megatron had to plan tactically, to keep us alive in a foreign environment. There were so many priorities we had to make – repairs, fuel, contact with Cybertron, getting our ship spaceworthy again. And what does he do instead?"

"He attacks the Autobots," I murmur.

"He attacks the Autobots," Hook agrees. "Not only that, he keeps attacking. He orders raid after raid after raid, is blindly focused on Prime, grows increasingly impatient and violent, even towards his own soldiers." He sighs, suddenly sounding weary. "I'd like to say there was a reason for it. I'd like to say the first rape happened after we crashed on Earth, that there was something in Earth's fuel that made him do it. But I would be lying." Now he's turning away from me, like he's ashamed. "Truth is, I repaired blown circuits and crumpled wings on Starscream before the Autobots had even started contemplating leaving Cybertron. Rebuilt his cockpit and chest plating not long after that. He kept coming back in with torn off wings, heavy dents, torn lines, even when no battle had taken place recently. Others started coming in with similar injuries – Thundercracker, Onslaught, Astrotrain, Ramjet – but it was most often Starscream. And it kept getting worse.

"On Earth, it escalated. Before that he'd been unstable, but on Earth he went mad. You couldn't speak against him. Not even Soundwave could, who'd been safe from the more violent outbursts until then. I had to do work on him too. I even had to repair my own gestalt mates after his attacks, even though I tried to use my status to protect them. And the Stunticons… No sooner were they activated than he started using them too. There's a reason that whole gestalt is insane. He made them that way."

I'm getting chills. I don't know if I can even get them in this body, but I'm getting them anyway.

"It got to the point where the soldiers were relieved to be captured," Hook continues. "They were safer in the Autobot brig than they were under Megatron's rule."

"I remember Ratchet saying something along those lines," I put in. "He felt horrible every time he had to send someone back."

Hook nods. "I owe Ratchet a debt. He always made sure he sent our soldiers back to us in better shape than he got them."

For a few moments, none of us say anything. I'm thinking about what he's said – there's something I don't understand.

"So…" I begin. Hook looks at me. "If he was that bad, why did you all stay with him?"

"That's the ultimate question, isn't it?" Hooks sounds almost wry. "But we didn't see any options. The Autobots were still the enemy. Most of the soldiers had no respect left for Starscream. Soundwave freaked them out. And for all his flaws, and there were quite a few of them, Megatron was still fearless. Still charismatic. Hadn't lost any of his strength, and had also grown more paranoid with time. I suppose Starscream helped ingrain that habit in him." He chuckles, but there's no humor in it. "We didn't have any other options. Not until Starscream killed Megatron, and we all had to take a step back and examine the mess we'd become." His mouth twists in a small smile. "I'm still grateful to him for that.

He leans back against the bulkhead again, optics dimming. I get the feeling he's told me everything he means to.

I let him have the silence. I have a lot to think about.


	8. Life

_NEW WARNING F_ _OR THIS CHAPTER: mech preg, transformers sparklings, alien reproduction._

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Today, we had our first group session at the center. Smokescreen and me were both there, leading it – and I was more than a little worried it'd be a fluke, but people actually showed up! We did do ourselves a favor and chose a theme that pretty much everyone can relate to, Coping with loss and moving on, but even so. Place could have been empty._

 _It was more than a little awkward at times, though. There were mecha there from all three factions, and they were far from comfortable with each other. But they were all civil enough, and towards the end they were even cordial._

 _Scavenger was there. I'm not really sure why, but maybe he just felt like joining. He's a sweetheart, really, almost childishly happy and excited sometimes, and very easy to read. Despite the purple brand on his chest, the others related easily to him._

 _On the other hand, Huffer, for all that he's an Autobot, annoyed quite a lot of the others. He's cranky and whiny and constantly tried to one-up the others – his loss was always worse than the others', his pain greater, his story more important._

 _I think Huffer needs a few one-on-one sessions._

 _I'm so glad it went so well. It gave me courage to try a few more group sessions. We just have to figure out what theme we should be dealing with._

 _Smokescreen had a suggestion, too. Quite a lot of the mecha here won't be too happy to be exposed in a group like this, to have others know what they're thinking and feeling. In the Decepticons, showing that kind of emotion was a weakness that would get you abused or worse, so it's not that weird that they're private about it. So Smokey suggested that I give talks; set the group room up a bit differently, send out open invites or hang up posters or something, and then just talk about my chosen subject. And then I can bring up more difficult themes, and let the audience know that they can see me directly if they need to. We can even form specialized groups after a while._

 _I kind of like it. I figure I can start out with anger management, decision-making skills, maybe one on PTSD. And then we can take it from there._

 _Speaking of which, my psych center's been named! Someone down at the government building has been trying hard to reimplement the pre-war custom of naming all the important buildings, and no one's been able to convince them it's a bad idea. So Ratchet's hospital is now the Crystal Garden Memorial Hospital, and the government building is the Unified Cybertron Grand Hall, and the square in front of it is the Peace Square._

 _Grand names for such humble structures._

 _I was stumped when it came to my own center, though. They left it up to me, giving me two weeks to come up with something, and I had no idea. I toyed with using something from Earth, but I was a bit afraid that no one would get it._

 _One of the Neutrals who came by the session convinced me, though. She said it's my center, I should pick something that'd matter to me, no matter if people get it or not. If they don't, they will ask._

 _So now my building is called the Jeremy Harrington Center of Psychology. I'm going to put a plaque up on the wall in the front room, telling everyone who Jeremy was._

 _Smokescreen approved. So did First Aid and Groove, for that matter._

 _I'm glad I made that decision. It feels right._

* * *

I hear First Aid's voice before I see him. He sounds excited about something. I'm looking up at the door, waiting for him when he walks in.

He shoots me a smile. "Sure, Ratchet, I'll tell her. Yes, she'll be there soon. Yes, I'll get someone to escort her, don't worry. Fine. Have a good shift. I'm kind of jealous."

I wait until he's clearly ended the comm call. "What are you jealous of?"

First Aid smiles as he leans over to kiss my forehead. "Ratchet has an exciting shift ahead. I'm jealous I'm missing it. And I'm a bit jealous of you, too, because he wants you over there ASAP."

"Me? Why?" I stand up hurriedly, downing the rest of my cube. "Does someone need help?"

"No." That smile again, and I'm kind of sorry I have to leave. It's a very inspiring smile. "He says it'll be a learning experience for you. And you should hurry, love." He quietens for a moment, optics unfocused, before grinning again. "There. Mirage will escort you. Go on." He kisses my forehead. "I'm going to recharge. Love you, Isobel."

"Love you back." I grab him, make him kiss me properly. Well, as properly as we have time for. "See you when you wake up."

Mirage comes dashing down the stairs just as I lock the door behind me. "Hello, Cynosura. What's so urgent, do you know?"

I shrug. It's such an eloquent gesture with these shoulder blades. "I have no idea. First Aid was excited, though, so it's probably a good thing."

"Well, let's get you to the hospital, then." He offers me a smile. "Full speed?"

"If I don't obey the traffic laws, Streetwise will be so mad at me." I follow Mirage down the stairs. "Legal limit?"

He chuckles. "You got it."

* * *

Ratchet's hospital is really not that far away. We're there in less than five minutes, and that includes walking down the stairs.

I say my goodbyes to Mirage and walk inside, waving back at Greenlight when she calls out which floor I need to go to. For once I drive up the ramp, which is a lot of fun even at fairly slow speeds, until I get to the floor above the one I used to spend all my time in.

There's a series of glyphs on the door to the ward. I can't read it all, but I recognize the glyphs for 'spark' and 'new'.

It makes no sense. Thankfully, Ratchet's just inside, waiting for me. He's smiling too.

Whatever's going on, it's a good thing.

"Hey, sparklet." Ratchet takes my elbow, guides me further into the room. We stop just past a partition, where there's a berth.

An _occupied_ berth.

Ratchet winks at me. "Welcome to Cybertronian Reproduction 101."

I stare at Grapple and Hoist. "Is a visual demonstration part of it?"

Ratchet snickers. _Snickers_. "Yes. But not in the way you suspect, I think."

It better not be. If there's a visual demonstration, I hope it's not of the beginning of the process. I'm not that much of a voyeur.

"Come. Sit." Hoist offers me a smile and nods towards a chair. He looks even more excited than First Aid did. "We're glad to have you here."

Cautiously, I sit down where indicated. "Not that I'm not glad to see you guys, because I am, but… What's going on?"

Ratchet's snicker blooms into a full laugh. "I am sorry to spring this on you, Isobel. But an opportunity has come up for you to witness something rare and, frankly, quite amazing."

Grapple smiles, almost shy, and squeezes Hoist's hand.

Wait just a gorram minute.

"You see, Grapple here is carrying," Ratchet continues, busying himself with checking medical equipment and hooking Grapple up to a variety of it. I'm sure he's doing it just so I won't see he's still snickering at me, the fragger. "And the emergence has begun."

My brain finally connects the dots, and my mouth falls open. "No _way_."

"Yes way." Hoist chuckles good-naturedly. "We're having a sparkling. Today."

Grapple blushes again.

"Congratulations," I gush, the surprise finally fading a bit. I'm getting inundated with good news these days. "That's so awesome, you guys."

"Thank you." Grapple sounds as happy as Hoist, but he also sounds more than a little nervous. "We're very excited."

"I bet you are. It's a big deal." I turn back to Ratchet, who's preparing a clear plastic basin on a wheeled stand. That, at least, I know the function of. Especially when he puts a soft pad in the bottom of the basin to work as a mattress would. "So how does it work? You can't just throw me in at the end of the process like this."

I'm rewarded with a soft chortle. "No, I guess I can't, can I? Very well. We have some time before the bitlet makes their appearance." He pulls up another chair and sits down beside me. "Do you know how newsparks are formed?"

"I've gathered it has something to do with spark-merging," I reply, keeping my tone neutral. "But I don't know the technicalities."

"And your partner is my best medic," Ratchet mutters, but it's fond. "Well. Spark-merging is done for pleasure, relaxation, bonding and reproduction. It doesn't really take that much to conceive a newspark. Much as with humans, a single merge can do it. And you don't even have to be bonded to do so, though it may be easier to conceive for those who are. Hence why having an inhibitor installed to prevent conception is free of charge and available to anyone who wants it."

I nod to show I've understood. And to acknowledge the warning glances he keeps giving me.

Message understood. Don't show up carrying a newspark just yet.

Ratchet is just like every dad ever.

"The carrying process takes about a vorn," Ratchet continues. "For the first quarter-vorn, it's just the newspark residing in their carrier's spark-chamber, orbiting the carrier spark. Then production begins. The gestation chamber, located here," he prods my abdomen, "begins expanding, pushing other less-important systems into subspace. Among those systems is the transformation cog. That means that once production begins, the carrier will no longer be able to transform. For some, that's the first sign they're carrying." He shoots Grapple a smile. "Most, like Grapple here, notice the newspark fluttering around their spark, however. It's draining and tickly and fascinating."

"Okay." I nod again, my head spinning a bit. "And production is…?"

"Production is the manufacture of the sparkling's physical frame, inside the gestation chamber," Ratchet explains. "It's taxing and requires a lot of energy, so the carrier will need increased rations and less work for the entire period. If the chamber and newspark doesn't get enough energy or materials, the process will abort and the newspark will reabsorb into its carrier's spark. The materials will be purged from the chamber and taken up by the carrier's body. It's physically painless, but emotionally it can be very taxing."

Kind of like Earth, then. Somewhat.

"When production is complete, the newspark migrates from the carrier's spark chamber to the gestation chamber and joins with the protoform frame. Once the joining's complete, the emergence starts. The joining can take several weeks, however, as the spark learns to operate its new frame. For Grapple, it's taken three and a half weeks, and that's perfectly normal."

Ratchet stands up and moves over to stand by the berth, next to Grapple. "Once the emergence starts, a notice pops up on the carrier's HUD. That's the cue to seek a medic. Most often we're not needed, but if we are…"

I nod. "Like humans. We can give birth by ourselves, but if something goes wrong, it's better to be in a hospital."

"Exactly." Ratchet points to the monitors. "These are monitoring the spark stability of both Grapple and the sparkling. Everything's fine so far, so I'm not worried. I'm mainly observing, at this point." He turns back to the berth, waving me closer. "Now. The emergence itself is slightly complicated, a bit messy, but not dramatic. At least not when everything goes well. It begins on the front of the abdomen, here," he points at a vertical line down Grapple's front. "The plating will split apart. Armor plates first, then the layers beneath until the gestational chamber itself shifts forward and spirals open. That's when the messy part starts, as the lubricants that have been buffering the sparkling's frame over the last three-quarter vorn flow out."

Grapple blushes a bit again, but he's taking fairly well to being used as a teaching aid. Better than I would in the same situation, I bet.

"The sparkling itself is curled up in a protective shell for emergence, and the shell will transform apart gradually in the first hour or so after it's emerged. It'll be soft and grey, with no kibble and few defining facial features. All that comes later." He turns back to me with a smile. "So? Any questions?"

"Not right now. I might have some later." I look down at Grapple's abdomen. There are no signs that there's a baby in there. Not like with humans. "So now it's just waiting?"

"Yeah." Hoist smiles proudly at his mate. "Though it shouldn't be long. The outer plating has already started transforming away, see?"

"They have?" I lean closer, then pull back to look up at Grapple. "I'm sorry. Can I see?"

"Of course." He takes my hand and places it on his abdomen. "But it's easier to feel it. Can you feel them sliding apart?"

Under my fingers, his plating is vibrating. As I stare down with wide optics, the individual plates shift apart by about a centimeter. "Wow."

"Wow is accurate." Ratchet hands Grapple a cube of energon. "Here, fill up. It might not take too long, but we still have to wait for a while."

* * *

A while is right. I'm putting the finishing touches on my talk on anger management when Grapple finally gasps. I look up just in time to see his plating split apart fully and a torrent of fluid come gushing out.

Messy indeed.

"Oh my," he murmurs faintly, looking down at himself. "That's… a lot."

"Needs to be, to cushion the sparkling." Ratchet is all business. "Any pain?"

"None." Grapple takes Hoist's hand again even so, though. "There's pressure, but it doesn't hurt."

"Good." Ratchet smiles down at Grapple's somewhat disturbingly open abdomen. "Then he'll be along any minute. Hoist, get ready to catch."

I offer my hand for Grapple to hold when Hoist lets go. Standing by his shoulder gives me a front row seat to what's going on, without having to actually look into his stomach cavity. I much prefer the new view.

"There he is," Hoist whispers. "There he comes. Oh, Primus, dearspark, he's perfect."

I lean forward just a bit, enough to see the clear silver orb that's sliding slowly out of Grapple's frame. It looks like a slightly oblong orb, all covered in segmented metal and lubricants, shining a bit in the light. Hoist catches it as it finally falls free.

"Oh my goodness," Grapple breathes as a small tremor goes through the silver shape. "Oh my goodness. Hoist, we did it."

"Congratulations." Ratchet is smiling as he hands Hoist a soft cloth. "Dry him off, and let's see if he won't join us."

I watch, almost entranced, as Hoist's thick fingers rub the cloth in small circles over the silver plating. It dulls where he touches it, the segments beginning to slide apart.

Between one blink and the next almost, the segments come apart and fall away. In Hoist's hands, there's a twitching, tiny, chubby, soft-looking baby robot.

I can't describe it – him – any other way. He's a robot, but he's a baby, all short limbs and chubby tummy and random movement. When big, blue optics open, and tiny mouth makes tiny sucking motions, I can't hold back the squeal.

I'm sold. He's adorable.

I want an armful of them.

"Hello Level," Grapple coos, reaching for his offspring. "Hello, dearest spark." He picks up the infant, holding him securely and in a surprisingly familiar way, cradled up over his chest and spark. "I'm so glad to meet you."

"He's beautiful," I murmur as the small face rubs against Grapple's plating, and small clicks and chirps emerge from a tiny vocalizer. "Congratulations."

"The first sparkling since the war ended," Ratchet says quietly, almost awestruck.

Hoist grins. "Not the last though, I bet."

"I hope not." Ratchet reaches out, lets one finger run down a small silver back. The sparkling is so tiny, Ratchet's finger almost covers his back completely. "We need to rebuild our population. They're part of our hope for the future, these defenseless little things." He sounds almost wistful.

I lean closer, a bit hesitant. "Can I touch?"

Grapple smiles at me. "Sure. Use just one finger though, like Ratchet did."

The silver protoform is soft under my finger, almost malleable. I melt completely as the touch elicits more of those little chirrs. "He's gorgeous."

"He is. Fine and healthy." Ratchet takes my elbow again. "We'll give you all time to bond. I'll come back in a few hours to check your plating and his coloring."

I follow as Ratchet tugs me away. There's just time for one last smile back at the happy new family. "Thanks for letting me be here."

"You're welcome." Hoist flashes me a quick smile back before his focus turns completely to his family.

Ratchet tugs me out of the ward. At least he lets go of my arm as the door shuts behind us, and nods towards the ramp to indicate where we're going. He doesn't say a word until we're in his office with the door closed. Then he flashes me a grin.

"Tempted?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," I admit, and suffer the ensuing smirk aimed at me. "But not yet. I have too much to do still. But just knowing that it's an option, you know?"

"I do know. I know exactly what you mean."

I'm getting the feeling that Ratchet's yearning for something here. And that that's as close to an admittance as he'll ever get. I have to suppress a grin – I don't want him to think I'm laughing at him, but putting Ratchet and sparklings in the same sentence has the potential for so much adorable that it's hard to not show how I feel.

Instead, I toss around for something to say, something slightly less private, and remember some of my questions. "So the sparkling's color will come in today already?"

"Somewhat." Ratchet digs through his shelf of datapads, probably trying to conceal his previous reaction. "He'll begin to get faint colors today, enough that we should be able to tell his base color at least. More defined facial and bodily features will come in within the next few vorn, and once he's a youngling in twelve vorn or so we'll begin to see kibble. That's when we'll finally see what he'll be – though I suspect some form of vehicle alt, with those parents. That's when he'll give us his name too."

I nod along, but that last bit makes little sense. "His name? But his name's Level."

"His sparkling name is Level, yes." Ratchet smiles fondly. "We find our own names, though, when we're old enough. Sparkling names are just so we can call our bitlets something in the meantime."

"I guess that makes sense." As much as the rest of it, anyway. I smirk at Ratchet. "So what was your sparkling name?"

Ratchet actually blushes slightly. "Nipper. Apparently I bit a lot when I was new."

I'm not going to laugh at him. I'm not.

Alright, I might grin a bit.

Ratchet busies himself with the datapads again. "And that's not something you want to ask just anyone, sparklet. Not all mecha were sparked like Level."

"Oh?" I sit down at the spare chair. "What other ways are there?"

"Some are sparked by Vector Sigma. Almost like you, except from Vector Sigma instead of an Earth body." He finally finds the datapad it appears he was looking for and passes it to me. "Here. This covers sparkling development. It's written for medical students, but you can skip the technical bits if you want."

"Thanks." I take the datapad and slip it into subspace. He's not getting away that easily. "So who're sparked by Vector Sigma, then? Is there any difference?"

He shakes his head. "No difference at all in the makeup of the spark. But Sigma-sparked mecha can come online as adults, they don't have to do all the growing. Sparklings are time-consuming and expensive, much more so than building a frame and requesting a spark for it. When it comes to who…" There's a slight frown aimed at me now. "Not something most mecha will be open about. It doesn't really matter, but it's still a fairly private thing. For some it's public knowledge - like the Aerialbots. They were brought online by Vector Sigma because we needed fliers. But for others it's more of a secret, and I expect you to keep it to yourself."

He waits for my confirming nod before continuing.

"I'm not giving you the full list, because you don't need it. But it will be useful for you to know that there is a difference, just so you see that there really isn't. Prowl is a Vector Sigma mech. So is Red Alert and Blaster. Soundwave too, I suspect, and the Rainmaker trine, possibly some of the other seekers too." He throws me a glance, expression unreadable. "And the Protectobots are Sigma mechs as well."

Now I get the look. That's the 'how's she going to react to this' look.

Like it matters where they came from. My Protectobots are mine no matter what. And it's not like I'll disown Prowl or something because of how he was created. And honestly, seeing alien robots birth live young is almost more freaky than accepting the idea that they're all created from a central power source.

"They were created because you needed a second gestalt?" I guess. "To counter the Decepticons?"

Ratchet nods and relaxes a bit. Apparently, I've passed some sort of test. "That, and a team that could work closer with the humans. They've been a success story from the moment they onlined."

I have to smile at that. "Well, they are pretty awesome."

He smiles back and sits down. "How are you three doing, anyway?"

"We're good." I blush a bit as I consider the details I'm definitely not going to tell him. "I'm… thinking about asking them to move in with me."

Ratchet chuckles. "Based on the way First Aid is talking, I suspect they already have and you just didn't notice."

"What? No." I'm shaking my head – that can't be right, can it?

Ratchet just grins at me, though. So I have to think it over for a moment.

Groove was there when I came home last night. And First Aid came home to my apartment this morning, and went to recharge in my berth. And they both have the key code.

And Groove keeps leaving his datapads on my table. First Aid's at least put them on the shelves…

I snort a laugh. "Huh. Maybe."

Ratchet, the slagger, is laughing at me. I pick up a clamp and toss it at him. It goes wide, of course.

"I see we need to update your hand-optic coordination code."

"Mute it. It's not my fault I don't have targeting software."

He chuckles at that a bit, before giving me another of those looks. "You thinking about making it official?"

A bit surprisingly, I understand what he means without further explanation. Maybe because it's been on my mind of late. I look down for a moment. "I don't know. That's kind of a big decision, isn't it?" _Pull yourself together, Isobel. Ratchet isn't that scary._ I meet his optics again. "Do you think they would have me?"

There's a small smile on Ratchet's face. "Sweetspark, I watched those two pining over you for a solid vorn. I don't think you could make them not want you if you tried. But you're right, it's a major decision. Want my advice?"

I didn't know that that's what I needed until now. It's such a relief, actually, to have him offer, and I know he can hear it in my voice. "Yes, please."

"Then give it time." He looks proud now, happy, and I don't know why. It's Ratchet, though – he'll probably tell me. He's never shy with his opinion. "You have so much on your plate right now, sparklet. You don't need to rush into anything. Groove and First Aid, they both love you. They'll be there when things settle down." The smile grows into a full grin. "We're not at war anymore. And I'm so proud of you for what you're doing."

Ah. There it is.

I go around the desk so I can hug him. He feels like more of a parent to me right now than ever. "You're right. The war's over." I straighten again and wink at him. "So you should go home to Optimus tonight and get started on making those sparklings."

I ignore the sputters and half-formed defenses as I wave at him and turn to leave. I know I'm right.

And I know that Ratchet and Optimus will make excellent parents. They are for me, after all.

I suppress a giggle as I walk out. I'm willing to bet I'll be a big sister in a vorn or two.

* * *

I'm smiling all the way back to the psych center. It's hard not to, even though I'm sure I look like a loon – seeing Level, all the weirdness of the actual birth aside, and then letting my imagination run wild on Ratchet-and-Optimus babies and Jazz-and-Prowl babies and Bluestreak-and-Skywarp babies and very carefully skirting around the idea of First-Aid-and-Cynosura-and-Groove babies… It's no wonder I'm smiling.

The added bonus of looking happy is that people are happy to see you, even if they don't know you. The little café owner on the corner gives me a smile and a wave, as do the Neutrals sitting on the bench in front of the fountain, and that old mech who's a friend of Hot Rod's.

I wave back, and all I can think of is that the pool of the fountain looks shallow enough for kids to play in. That the undeveloped park across the square would make a good playground, and wait a minute maybe that's why they haven't developed it yet and does someone in charge know something I don't?

I'm seriously running a one-track mind today.

It lasts until I'm walking into the psych center – I kind of abandoned Smokescreen in charge today, with orders to just set up appointments and look at case studies – and see a familiar form waiting for me.

"Hey, Thundercracker! Nice to see you again. How's Starscream?"

He smiles at me, but there's something tentative about it. Behind him, at the front desk, Smokescreen is frowning. Almost glaring, in fact. It's enough to put me on edge a bit. "Star's his usual self. No better, no worse."

"I'm coming out to see him once a week," I offer. "I'm sorry it's not more often, but with another client requiring a daily visit as well and my appointment book swamped it's really all I can do."

"I'm grateful," he reassures, hands raised and everything. "I know you have a lot on your hands with the others. It's… kind of why I'm here."

"Oh?" I'd arch an eyebrow if I had one, and I can feel my face doing something, but I don't know what it is. I should probably look at my expression in front of a mirror. "You want to set up an appointment?"

"Yes." He hesitates, and Smokescreen's glare intensifies, and my plating would be crawling if it could. "But not for me." He steps aside. "For him."

Soundwave.

Maskless, for some reason, but still Soundwave.

I'm back against the door before I realize I'm moving. My spark's spinning faster too.

"Please, Cynosura." Thundercracker's voice is entreating. "I don't pretend to know how you feel. But he needs help too."

Damn it.

 _Damn_ it.

He's right. Thundercracker's right. I have a duty of care towards everyone, and that means Soundwave too.

 _Fuck._

"Ground rules," I force out. "Smokescreen will be present for every session. If he can't make it for some reason, I'll either have First Aid or Ratchet present. If none of them can be there, we cancel. And there will be a guard outside the door." I'll find the money to hire one somehow. Maybe Hot Rod or someone else, a warrior who doesn't have a skill-specific job right now.

Thundercracker looks incredibly hopeful. So does Soundwave, for that matter, when I finally gather enough courage to look at him.

He looks friendlier without that mask on.

"It is appreciated," he says, and his voice is almost normal. It's not the emotionless monotone I remember. That must have been the mask too. "I am grateful. Thundercracker: also offered to sit in on sessions. Safety, comfort: imperative."

His speaking pattern's eased up a bit, too. Not much, but enough to be noticeable.

I look at the blue seeker. "You'll need to sign a confidentiality agreement."

He nods. "That's fine. You'd be okay with me there? It'd be for both your sakes."

I consider it for a moment. Thundercracker's never hurt me. He's always been careful and cautious around me, but he's never given me any reason to doubt him. Heck, he was one of my favorite Decepticons before peace even happened. And I do remember reading in Ratchet's files that Thundercracker was one of the least aggressive 'Cons.

Yeah, I trust him.

"You can be there," I agree. "It's fine." Plus, he also has a vested interest in keeping me alive and well, since I'm one of his few hopes of ever getting Starscream back to himself. "Do you want to set up an appointment, or should we just start right now?"

"Do you have time right now?" Thundercracker sounds hopeful again, and slaggit, it's hard to say no to him.

"Nothing else set up," Smokescreen says, looking at me from behind the desk. "Nothing until tomorrow. Unless you wanted to start on that thing we talked about."

He's giving me an out. And I appreciate it, but I don't think I'll need it. In fact, it's probably better to just start now so I don't freak myself out about having to treat Soundwave in the future. "Now's fine. Will you comm someone to be on guard outside?" It'll have to be as a favor this time, but I'm sure we can find someone.

He smiles slightly. "Jazz is already on his way."

That earns him a look. I bet Jazz had other things to do than standing outside a door, listening for signs of trouble. Smokescreen just shrugs, completely unrepentant. "He offered."

I sigh. "Fine. Let's start in ten minutes – that'll give Jazz time to get here and me time to fuel. You two, take a seat for now."

I manage to keep my cool until I'm past them, though I feel like I'd rather just flee. Can't do that, though. Not this time.

Damn it. At least I hope he's not out to hurt me.

I fill a cube, add my carbon to it, and send a ping to First Aid and Groove. I suspect First Aid is still in recharge, which is probably right since Groove is the only one responding.

::Hey, Belle! How's your day so far?::

::It was good until now,:: I reply, curling up in my somewhat unnecessarily comfy office chair. ::But I just got a new client. One who freaks me out.::

Groove is instantly serious. ::You don't have to treat him if you don't want to. He can demand nothing from you.::

::I'm a medic, Groove. I have to help.::

::Not when it damages you,:: Groove points out. ::And if this is who I think it is, he's done plenty of damage to you already.::

Clever, protective Groove.

::I already said I would help. And Smokescreen will be in there with me, and _he_ brought a common friend to be there as well. Plus, Jazz is standing guard outside. I'm as safe as I can be.::

There's a pause. Groove clearly doesn't like it. ::If you think so, dearspark. Just… if you feel worried or anything, cancel the session, okay? You're allowed to. Do you want me to meet you after?::

I shrug, even though he can't see it. ::Don't know yet. I'll comm you, okay? And thanks.::

He chuckles lightly. ::Thanks for what? Caring? I'll always do that, Belle. I love you.::

Aw, now I'm all warm and fuzzy. A serious improvement from near-panicky and upset. ::Love you too, Groove. I'll see you later, okay?::

::Definitely.::

The connection cuts just in time, because there's a sharp knock on the door and then Jazz sticks his head in. "Hiya, sweetspark. Ya ready for the big bad 'Con?"

I sigh. "Ready as I'll ever be, I suspect. Thanks for being here, Jazz."

"'Course." He takes my hand and tugs me to my feet. "And by the way, ya's comin' home with me afterwards. Prowler's insistin'."

It's been ages since I saw Prowl. And I haven't seen Jazz and Prowl together since… Since I woke up. I had intended to go home to Groove, but… maybe today is a day for parental figures. Groove will get it.

"That sounds good." I sigh again, then stand up straight and square my shoulders. "Alright. Let's begin."

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I am so exhausted. This day has been a rollercoaster of the extreme variety._

 _Soundwave has issues. Turns out, not only was he abused by Megatron, sexually and otherwise. But he was also forced to watch quite a lot of abuse of all kinds, inflicted on everyone from Starscream to the lowest soldiers. And all that watching's hurt him almost as much as the actual abuse he suffered._

 _Smokescreen did well. It's the first time he's sat in on an appointment like this – up to now, I've mainly had him studying and attending the group sessions. It's a good test for him. Not that I was actually testing him, but it's good to know that he can keep calm and professional in a setting like that. I have great hopes for him._

 _Thundercracker kept silent as well. He was this statue in the corner, meeting Soundwave's optics whenever he looked that way, nodding every now and then. I'm not sure why he was there, really. Maybe as a friend? I didn't know Soundwave and he were close, but then again, I haven't seen much of either of them outside of official business._

 _It was so nice, relaxing with Jazz and Prowl this afternoon. They were all worried about me. Plus, it gave me another chance to gush about Level, and to get more advice on bonding from a couple who've been bonded longer than I've been alive. Longer than First Aid's been alive too. Pit, probably longer than all of the Protectobots combined._

 _Not unsurprisingly, their advice echoed Ratchet's. There's no rush. Be patient._

 _I can be patient._

 _And it's not like I don't have two gorgeous Protectobots to come home to anyway. Jazz just laughed at me when I told them how First Aid and Groove had moved in without me even noticing. Apparently he'd tried doing the same thing to Prowl, but Prowl was much too observant. I'm clearly not observant at all. Well, not on that front anyway._

 _They even escorted me home afterward. Prowl said he was fairly confident that the two of them stepping in for Streetwise would satisfy Ratchet's requirements, so I got to drive. And when Jazz saw how I was driving, he offered to take me to the race track next week to really get some practice in. It seems like my driving needs some work._

 _I hope I can fit it in. I have a day with Sunstreaker and a day with Starscream, two talks, one group session and a full appointment book._

 _I love my life so much right now. Despite all the chaos. I don't think I'd change a thing if I could._


	9. Just when everything was going well

I'm starting to know the way to the twins' cave by heart. Or spark, maybe, I don't know. And with both Ratchet and First Aid coming with me, the latter towing what is in essence a mobile repair bay, it's a good thing I don't have to focus on finding the way.

Today's a big day. Sunstreaker is getting his maintenance done.

It's taken several sessions to get him ready for this. He does trust Ratchet, and First Aid to an extent, but in order for him to be repaired fully, he'll need to be put into stasis. And that scares him. I'd probably never have convinced him to accept repairs at all if it hadn't been for the fact that his shoulder's seized up, making this horrible grinding noise whenever he tries to move his arm. And with his shoulder out of commission, he can't really paint. That's a powerful motivation for Sunstreaker.

"Pit-slagging fiends had to choose the most inaccessible fragging cave in existence," Ratchet grumbles as he and First Aid maneuver the heavy trailer down the last steep slope. I'm on lookout duty, trying to spot the most difficult parts of the descent and warn them in advance, since I'm not strong enough to actually take the trailer's weight. You wouldn't think either Ratchet or First Aid are strong enough either, by looking at them, but they're seriously strong. First Aid has explained that they need to be, if they're to be able to handle their patients.

"Can't even get it inside the damn cave," Ratchet continues. It's almost like he's a steam engine, using curses and swear words to keep his pressure up. I'm trying not to giggle at the thought. "This isn't the kind of repairs I like to do in fragging open air."

Oh yeah. That's another challenge. The mobile bay is too large to get inside without actually expanding the doorway, which Sideswipe nixed rather vehemently. So for this to happen, we need Sunstreaker to come outside. If he doesn't, there's nothing we can do today.

Well. Nothing Ratchet and First Aid can do. I can still go inside and work with him if it comes to that.

He really does need the repairs, though. We're all hoping that it'll be possible to get him outside, even though he hasn't been out of the cave since the day I woke up.

The heavy trailer is a cumbersome load, not meant for steep slopes and uneven, rocky ground. I can see the moment it starts slipping, but there's nothing I can do aside from calling out a warning. They try to steady it, but it's no use. The trailer slides the last few meters down to the bottom of the ravine, only stopping and teetering dangerously on the edge of the last drop. I'm sure it would have fallen over and crashed if strong red arms hadn't caught it.

"What are you doing, towing this thing out here?" Sideswipe asks, laughing. "Couldn't you just have had Blades airlift it in or something?" He gives the trailer a pat as it settles finally on the ravine floor and winks at me. "Hey, Isobel."

"Hey, Sideswipe." I stare at him. "You're red."

"Well, yeah." There's an easy smile on his lips as he does a twirl for me. "Sunny decided it was time for a repaint. He never thought I looked right in silver. Like it?"

I nod. "It looks good." More than that, I'm thrilled that Sunstreaker actually decided to paint his brother. That shows real progress. He's beginning to take an interest in the world again.

"Where is the ray of sunshine, anyway? Still inside?" Ratchet still sounds annoyed, but I think it's at the general situation more than it is at Sunstreaker for not being outside and waiting for us. He'll be as careful with Sunstreaker as I've told him to be, I'm sure. Ratchet knows what's at stake here, probably more than many others would.

"Still inside," Sideswipe confirms, nodding towards the dark crevice in the wall. "Why don't I help you set this up, and Isobel can go get him?"

"Sounds good." First Aid flashes me a smile. "Go work your magic, love."

I smile back. "Sure."

Magic, he says. If only it was that easy.

I turn and shuffle into the crack, following the familiar twists and turns until I emerge in the bright cavern.

Sunstreaker's waiting for me. He looks as nervous as I expected – optics pale, a faint trembling in his frame as he paces back and forth in the small room.

"Sunstreaker." I take care to keep my voice mild and make sure he sees I'm approaching. "It's good to see you."

I'd been half afraid that he wouldn't acknowledge me at all, but I needn't have worried. I've barely finished speaking before he's up against me, holding me close with his one functional arm and resting his head against mine. "Isobel." The word is soft, almost a sigh.

"Hi, sweetie." Not very professional, but I've all but adopted this one. If anyone has anything to say about that, I'm sure I can find something to say back.

For a moment, we just stand there holding each other. Then I pull back slowly. I've learned by now that Sunstreaker's perfectly happy to cuddle away an entire session. Which was fine and good in the beginning, but we need to focus beyond physical reassurance now.

"Ratchet and First Aid are waiting outside," I say softly. "Are you ready?"

He hesitates. There's so much tension in his body, it's almost as if he's fighting to not pull himself back from the crack that leads outside. "Can we… Can we wait a little?"

I'm so glad he's actually talking, it's hard to even say no. "Just a little, Sun. We can wait until they're done setting up." I take his hand and squeeze it. "Did you fuel yet?"

"Yeah. One cube, like the doctor ordered." There's a trace of the old Sunny in his smirk. "Don't want to set off the Hatchet."

"No, we don't," I agree. "By the way, I love Sideswipe's new paintjob."

That relaxes him a bit. He's standing straighter, almost preening. "Thanks. It's a major improvement." He eyes me critically. "We should do something about yours, too."

"Mine?" I look down at myself. "I kind of like mine. What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, the color scheme's fine." He lets go of my hand, circling me with a critical eye. "The green is a shade too bright to match your visor, though, and you've got the wrong white. It looks like you got the one the medics use, which is meant to match with red. You need the one that blends with a cooler spectrum of colors. And you could do with some highlights." His finger touches my shoulders, then my hips, then my abdomen. "Silver edgings too, maybe."

"That sounds good." I grin up at him. "I'll set up a time, if you get the paints?"

The smile I get in return is nothing short of brilliant. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Then let's go get your shoulder fixed." I tug at him. "The sooner you're in good shape, the sooner you can make me look good!"

He chuckles at me – and I love hearing that, it's been ages since last time – and follows me indulgently. At least at first. The closer we get to outside, the more I have to tug at him to keep him moving. I keep a firm hold of his hand. If I can just get him outside, to Sideswipe and Ratchet and First Aid, he'll be more okay.

The bright light outside almost blinds me. I let Sunstreaker stop for a moment just inside the door. "It's bright. Recalibrate your optics, sweetie."

Then I tug him outside.

Somewhat outside, anyway. Because the mobile repair bay has an actual floor, and the others have set up a tent of some sort around us. We're outside, but not really.

It's really clever. I bet it's something Ratchet insisted on to avoid getting contaminants into Sunstreaker's systems during repairs, but it's good for Sunstreaker's psyche too. I can see the white fading out of his optics, returning them to a more relaxed color.

"There you are." Ratchet's using the same tone he's always used with the twins. I'm grateful he's keeping to the plan we laid in advance. "Slag, what did you do to yourself? Are you trying to run yourself into the ground?"

Sunstreaker stares at him for a moment before shrugging. "I'm still shiny."

"Shiny as the Pit," Ratchet returns. "All gloss covering the fragging mess underneath. Come on, up you get." He pats the medberth and shoots Sideswipe a glare. "Don't think I don't see you snickering over there. I've read Aid's reports. You're next."

Sunstreaker laughs again, bringing a startled smile to Ratchet's face, then lays down. He tenses infitesimally, and Sideswipe is at his side in an instant.

Ratchet's told me the twins never separate for surgery. They made such a racket in the beginning about being separate from each other for repairs that he's given up, and now lets the other twin stay unless the surgery's on really sensitive components like processor or spark chamber. Sideswipe will be at Sunstreaker's side until he wakes up again.

"Sweet dreams, bro." He kisses Sunstreaker's forehead. "I'll be right here."

Ratchet connects to Sunstreaker's medical port, and Sunstreaker's optics dim again.

I settle back against the cliff. There's nothing for me to do but wait.

* * *

"There." Ratchet reattaches the last part of Sunstreaker's hip plating. "That's all we can do for now. I'll bring him back online."

I put away the datapad I'd been writing my next talk on and stand up. Sunstreaker's optics are brightening slowly before suddenly dimming again. "Slagging hurts," he groans.

"Yeah." Ratchet's voice holds no pity. "We had to replace more gears and lines and cabling than I've ever had to before on a mech that hasn't been slagged completely. You had vorn-old damage, Sunny."

"From the battle with Shockwave," Sideswipe supplies helpfully. And somewhat daringly, judging by the irate look on Ratchet's face. "I still had dents and dings from that too until Aid fixed me."

Ratchet harrumphs. "Slaggers. Anyway, your shoulder should be fine now. The rest of you too, though I'd like to follow up on that knee in a couple of days. The cabling had frayed almost completely, and I want to see it reintegrate properly. Aid can easily check that too, if you don't want to come in."

Sunstreaker shakes his head. "No. Not coming in. Aid can do it."

"Good. I'm leaving you a – hang on. Aid, take over." He turns around, hand raised to his audial to show he's being commed.

"We're leaving you a week's worth of med-grade energon," First Aid says, offering Sunstreaker a smile as the other grimaces. "I know it tastes like slag, but your systems need it. And we need you to transform at least twice a day. Drive a bit too, if you can manage. Your t-cog is showing beginning signs of atrophy, so you need to use it more." He looks at Sideswipe. "There's a good race track a few miles from here. No one uses it at night. Streetwise is the one monitoring it, when it is monitored."

Sideswipe nods to show he's understood. I have my doubts that Sunstreaker's ready to go racing quite yet, but with the rate he's improving, who knows? It could be sooner rather than later.

"Slag." Ratchet turns back to us. "That was Magnus. I have to go. Aid, can you finish up here? Isobel, you're with me, command needs you. They just don't know it yet."

"Sure." I wonder what's going on. Ratchet sounds almost nervous, which can't be right. And it can't be a medical emergency, or First Aid would have to come too.

I hug the twins goodbye and plant a kiss on First Aid's lips. "See you tonight?"

He grins. "Definitely."

Sideswipe snickers. "Lovebirds. When are you tying them down, Isobel?"

I poke him. "None of your business. I'll see you two next week."

I wave at the chorus of goodbyes and turn to follow Ratchet up the hill. ::What's going on?::

::Trouble,:: he sends back. ::We're needed in command. There's been a transmission.::

That doesn't give away much. But maybe Ratchet doesn't know that much either. It certainly doesn't calm me down at all.

* * *

I haven't driven this fast on Cybertron before. Ratchet sets a speed that keeps us just shy of breaking the speed limits, which is quite a bit faster than Streetwise has let me go so far. It takes much less time to get back to the council building than it did to get out to the twins' cave, and that's discounting the extra hassle of the trailer.

Ratchet barely waits for me as I transform. He's clearly impatient to get inside. Something must be seriously wrong.

Inside the council building, it's quiet. There's a couple of guards standing unobtrusively by the walls right inside the doors, and a receptionist. Aside from them, it's empty. Ratchet gives them all a nod and hurries through the main hall, then up a ramp that leads up to the top floor. It's all I can do to stay on his heels.

Off the ramp, he heads for a pair of double doors, pulling one open for me and following directly behind. Inside is a large space, with a big table in the middle and computer consoles along the walls. The room is full of people. Soundwave and Ultra Magnus have their heads together over a datapad, with Thundercracker hovering behind them. Prowl and Jazz are both talking to Prime, and Optimus looks more worried than I like to see him. Perceptor is seated at the table, a small mountain of datapads in front of him. Scrapper is next to him, his one solitary datapad looking strangely out of place.

"All right, we're here," Ratchet says crisply. "Now, what in pit are we doing?"

"Hello, Isobel," Prowl says. He actually looks surprised. "Not that I don't like seeing you, but why are you here?"

I shrug. "Ratchet brought me."

"We're going to need her." Ratchet crosses the room and drops down in a chair, nodding towards the one next to him. "Call it a gut feeling. And it's not like she doesn't have the clearance. Sit, sparklet."

I obey. There's not much else I can do before I know what's going on.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," Optimus says, nodding at Jazz and the others to sit down as well. "Red Alert won't be joining us in here today, as he's manning the security hub. He will be listening via comms. If everyone's ready, this special council meeting can begin. Jazz?"

"Yeah." I've never seen Jazz look this serious. "As y'all were told, we picked up a signal. It's broadcasted fairly widely, but thanks t' Soundwave's signal blockers, most of the average population didn't pick it up."

This is the first I've heard of signal blockers. I frown at Jazz – frowning at Soundwave is still a bit beyond me.

It's Prowl who takes pity on me and explains. "Our new comm net is still fragile. Rather than risk it overloading with interstellar signals, which it would if some mechs were allowed to pick up all the signals they wanted –" he gives Soundwave a meaningful stare, and, strangely, Scrapper "- we've implemented signal blockers that funnel the off-world signals down to a localized comm system that's been built to handle it. The signal blockers aren't a permanent fixture, but until our comm net is more robust we need to keep them in place."

That sounds plausible. Not that I know anything about the technology involved.

Jazz clearly takes my silence as permission to keep going. "Th' signal wasn't decrypted. An' it originates from just th' other side of our new star."

"They're still broadcasting?" Red Alert's voice comes directly into my head. He's patched into all our comms at once, it seems.

"They are," Jazz confirms. He looks even more grim than he did a few moments ago. "Th' message is still the same. I don't even want t' recap it for ya. Th' whole thing will make more of an impact. Soundwave?"

Soundwave nods. A moment later, an alien voice streams into the room.

"…repeat, we await your response on the third rotation of your planet from now. Any hesitancy beyond that will be swiftly and strongly punished." There's a pause – clearly we tuned in at the end of the message. "Cybertron. This is the Intergalactic Alliance. On behalf of the ruling council, the member civilizations and the allied races, we are hereby serving you notice. The Decepticons and the Autobots are hereby charged with multiple counts of mass murder on civilians, use of prohibited weaponry, slavery, mass destruction, attacks on unevolved planets and non-sentient species, eradication and destruction of unevolved planets and non-sentient species, genocide, and numerous counts of excessive violence. You have the right to defend yourselves against these accusations, in which case a trial will be held in a location which shall be mutually decided. You may also request further details of the charges." There's another short pause. "Though both parties are considered guilty, not every individual will carry blame. In light of the recent peace brokered between the Autobots and the Decepticons, the Alliance is content to charge the leaders of both factions. We give Megatron and Optimus Prime three rotations of your planet to ask for more information and craft a response. Any delay beyond that, or any lack of response, will lead to the Alliance taking decisive action against the people of Cybertron. Repeat, we await your response on the third rotation of your planet from now. Any hesitancy beyond that will be swiftly and strongly punished."

The message begins over again. For a moment, no one's even venting. It's like we're all frozen in stone.

"…well, frag."

As one, everyone turns and stares at Ultra Magnus. He looks as stricken as the rest of us, which isn't a good look for him. By the incredulous looks on Prowl's and Optimus' faces, the cussing is out of character too.

Magnus is undeterred by suddenly being the focus of everyone's attention. He gets himself back under control, the look of surprise being replaced by a sharp frown. "We have a lot of work to do and not much time to do it. Let's get started."

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I don't even know what to say. How could everything go to Pit so fast?_

 _The council's been meeting all day. I sat in on it for a while, before I needed to get out of there – the whole 'which laws can we use in our defense' and 'some of the allies might be persuaded to be on our side' and 'what about that planet, we never raided that' got to be a bit too much for me._

 _Four million years of war is finally catching up to them. And it isn't pretty. It's downright scary, actually._

 _To no one's surprise, Optimus suggested he'd surrender. The look on Ratchet's face kind of threw a wrench in his plans though. That's not counting the physical wrench that hit him a moment later._

 _I'm almost laughing at the entire situation. The alternative is that I start crying, which... Well, I've done enough crying over these guys' war._

 _Before I left, we'd decided to ask for a meeting with their representative. That'll maybe buy us some time. Not that anyone seems to have any great hopes that we'll get out of this unscathed._

 _After the meeting, I went to the archive. Turns out we actually have one, in the basement of the council building, and it's manned by the cutest little minibot Neutral called Digit. He found everything they had for me on this Intergalactic Alliance, and it wasn't comforting._

 _I feel like I'm suddenly up against the entire Jedi order or something. And I'm the bad guy._

 _Well, not me specifically. Regardless of anyone's willingness to let Optimus sacrifice himself, I don't think they'll let it come to where the civilian population is punished. So there's that._

 _Gah, my head hurts. I don't know what to do._

 _I don't think anyone does at this point._

* * *

There is some comfort in sitting in front of my massive window, staring out at a dark Cybertron. Mostly dark, anyway – there are streetlights, lit windows, but the sky is dark. I can't see the stars from here, but I know they're up there.

I know _they're_ up there too. Sitting in their massive spaceships and plotting our destinies.

"Hey." Groove reaches out, squeezes my hand. "It'll be okay."

I sigh. "You can't know that."

"No, I can't," he agrees. "But the Alliance is fair. We may lose the trial. But for most Cybertronians? For us, you, all the Neutrals, most of the base troops? It'll be okay."

"Megatron's dead," I point out. "In case you've forgotten. He can't be punished. What if they decide to punish someone else instead? Skywarp was head trine. What if they demand his death? He's about to be bonded, and I haven't seen Bluestreak this happy ever, it just wouldn't be fair. And Soundwave was third in command, but he's finally found peace now too, not to mention he's got six cassettes depending on him. Or what if they decide they want Starscream? He's already seriously unstable, he can't defend himself." I lean backwards, my head hitting the wall with a thunk. "I don't know what to do."

There's a slight smile on Groove's face. "I know this is an unpopular opinion, Belle, but _you_ don't actually have to solve this. Leave it to Ultra Magnus and Prowl and Optimus and the rest. Optimus is a skilled diplomat, and Ultra Magnus knows every law in existence – and Prowl sees all the loopholes. They'll come up with something." He kisses my cheek. "Come to berth?"

"Not yet." I shake my head. "I have too much on my mind to sleep. I'll just sit here for a little while longer."

"If that's what you need." He touches my shoulder, runs a hand along the blade there. "Don't stay up too late. First Aid finishes his shift at midnight, he'll be back then."

"Okay." I watch as he walks back towards the berth room, and a thought suddenly hits me. I would have remembered to ask sooner, but everything that's happened in the last couple of days kind of pushed it out of my mind. "Hey, Groove?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you two live here now?"

The grin I get for that is positively impish. "Took you long enough to realize, didn't it?" He walks back, embraces me and rests his chin on the top of my head. "I know we didn't ask. We just wanted to stay close to you." I can feel his lips on my finials. "We spent so long not knowing if you would live or die. It's a comfort every day to see you up and about."

It's so peaceful here, in Groove's arms. I miss another Protectobot against my front - it seems too cold now that Groove's pressed against my back – but he'll be home soon.

Suddenly I don't want to sit up by myself gazing out the window anymore. I want to snuggle in against Groove's chest and forget that there are any kinds of trouble in the world. Or in the space around it.

Groove must be psychic. Either that, or the way I relax against him gives it away. "Come on, Belle. Let's get to berth. First Aid will join us when he comes home."

Home. I like having a home with these two in it.

* * *

Somehow, recharging on the matter helped. I woke up in the morning with a fully finalized plan in my mind. Which is why I'm halfway across town already, my half-full energon cube in my hand.

I bet quite a few of my new family would have words to say about what I'm about to do. But it needs to be done. And anyway, when I told First Aid and Groove all they said was 'of course you are, love' and 'good on you, Belle'. So I figure I'm in the clear.

The prison is unassuming, a large, grey building at the edge of town. There's a smaller front office attached to it, so that's where I'm heading.

Surprisingly, I'm not nervous. I can talk my way in there. I haven't really had the chance to talk to Ultra Magnus or Prowl about mandatory psych treatment for the Stunticons, but I'm making an executive decision. They can argue about it later if they want to, but I get the feeling they'll be too busy.

I don't know the bot watching the camera feeds. He's golden, completely absorbed by what he's doing, and for some reason there's a lion's head on his chest. I can't remember seeing him in my files at all, but something about him says he's not a Neutral.

"Excuse me."

No response.

"My name is Cynosura. I'm here for the Stunticons' mandatory psychological evaluation."

He blinks, slowly, without looking away from the screens. "Springer will be here in a moment."

O-kay. Guess I'm waiting for this Springer, then.

It's not a long wait. The heavy door into the prison proper is practically thrown open, and a green bot almost storms out. He glances at the golden bot. "I swear, if those Throttlebots gets themselves thrown in here for kicks one more time, I'm going to stomp on their heads, Autobots or no." He leans over the counter, looks at the multitude of small images on the screen. "Anything suspicious on the cameras?"

"No." The golden bot's voice has an almost growly, feral quality to it. "All quiet."

"Shame." The green bot straightens again, a slight pout on his face. "Would have made the day more interesting."

I have a feeling these guys haven't heard about our ultimatum-bringers in the sky yet.

"You have a visitor," the golden bot offers. "Name of Cynosura."

"Oh!" The green bot's face brightens, and he turns towards me with a wide smile on his face. "Thanks, Razorclaw! Hey, Cynosura, I'm Springer." He holds out a hand for me to shake. "Ironhide mentioned you might come by."

"It's nice to meet you." He's got a seriously strong handshake. "Yes, I'm here to do mandatory psychological evaluations on the Stunticons. Could you escort me inside?"

"Absolutely. Just a few safety precautions first." He steps back, looks me over. "Are you armed?"

"No." I shake my head. "My alt-mode doesn't carry weapons either."

"No loose kibble? Wildrider especially is prone to grabbing at things."

I can feel my shoulder blades twitching as I flinch. "Nothing loose. But thanks for the warning – I'll keep him in front of me."

"No incendiaries, explosives, chemicals, sharp blades, fuel or treats?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. Or whatever my face actually does now. "Want me to empty out my subspace?"

He chuckles. "Nah, it's fine. We have to ask, but I don't figure you want to break any of these guys out. Hot Rod says you want to help, and that wouldn't really be helpful. Come on."

I follow as he pulls the heavy door open again. It looks like nothing to him, but the steel's as thick as Springer's legs. "You know Hot Rod?"

"He's practically my brother." Springer waits until I'm inside before pulling the door closed. "We've served with Ultra Magnus' group since we were old enough to sign up. He said you two'd met." He leads the way through the hallways, pointing things out and explaining as we go. "Down there are the deep cells. We haven't had anyone there since we first got here, when the Insecticons kicked up a fuss. They settled down once they got a territory of their own. And that way's the commissary, where we refuel and get fuel for the prisoners. Overnight cells, for the rare time Streetwise drags in bots too overcharged to stand on their own feet. The Stunticons' ward is that way. High-security that way – currently empty except for Vortex and Sinnertwin."

"Aren't you going to introduce _us_ , Autobot?" The voice is almost challenging. "To your pretty little companion?"

Springer sighs, stops before one of the cells. He looks at me. "This wing is for long-stay, lower-security prisoners. It's usually inhabited by these two. Runabout, Runamuck, this is Cynosura. She's a mind medic. Cynosura, meet our two semi-resident troublemakers."

The black prisoner – Runabout, if I got the pointing right - grins. "It's in the names."

I snort. "Of course it is. So what did you do?"

Runamuck shrugs. "Nothing much. Drove a bit too fast."

"Crashed a bit too hard," Runabout supplies.

"Destroyed a bit too much property."

"Ran over a few too many minibots."

"As I said. Nothing much, really." Runamuck winks at me.

Springer sighs. "They think they're funny. But this is exactly the kind of behavior that brings you back here after a few weeks of freedom. If you don't tone it down, you'll be stuck in the deep cells eventually."

They don't look too perturbed. "Aw, knew you cared, bounce-bot." Runabout grins.

"Besides," Runamuck continues, almost where his brother – at this point, I'm almost certain they're brothers – left off. "You'd miss us if we weren't in here."

"Yeah, like a pain in the aft," Springer deadpans. "You've got a few more weeks left, guys. Come on, Cynosura. The Stunties are this way."

I follow him through another doorway, ignoring the jibes and catcalls from behind me. Those two aren't my concern right now.

Springer pulls the door shut behind me, but I'm already looking ahead.

The Stunticons' ward seems almost designed for them. There are five cage-like cells set up in a row, each one stretching back into an alcove of sorts with a berth in it. The setup reminds me of the cell structure they kept Laserbeak in on Diego Garcia, the one that could be changed at will – except this one looks to be constructed from some sort of laser bars, not metal ones. I guess that makes sense.

I look the bots inside over, trying to remember who's where.

Motormaster is the mech closest to me. He's huge, as big as Optimus, with a massive black chest and a hooded black cowl and a mean snarl on his face. He looks like he could crush me and not even notice.

I try to tell myself I'm not afraid. That there are bars between me and him. That I have a strong mech standing next to me.

It doesn't help much.

Next to Motormaster is Drag Strip. Bright yellow plating, a smug smile on his face, he eyes me like I'm something to eat. It makes my plating crawl.

The mech in the next cell isn't still. He's darting back and forth, leaping and spinning. Small zaps echo through the room whenever he touches the cell bars, which is often.

"Wildrider needs to move," Springer explains quietly, probably noticing my surprise. "It's why their cells are so big. Not that the others take too much advantage of it, except sometimes for Drag Strip."

I nod to show I've understood. The explanation, anyway – I'll need to actually talk to Wildrider to understand what drives him to throw himself into the bars like that. It has to hurt – I can see singed marks on his plating when he holds still for long enough.

In the cell next to Wildrider, Dead End sits on a low bench. He's running a cloth over the plating on his legs, leaving a lustrous sheen behind.

The cell behind him looks to be empty. I glance up at Springer questioningly.

"Breakdown hides," he says, even more quietly than earlier. "His paranoia is even worse than Red Alert's, and he can't stand being watched or focused on at all. We even had to aim the cameras away."

Drag Strip stands abruptly, kicking the cell bars. "Hey, sweetling! Come to have a good time? I'm the best time there is!"

I have my work cut out for me with these mechs.

"Will you give me some time alone with them? I'll stay away from the cell bars."

Springer nods. "I'll be watching you on camera. There's no sound, though. At the smallest sign of trouble, I'll be back, okay?"

"Thanks." I offer him a smile. "I'll let you know when I'm done."

I walk over to the other end of the row and stop in front of Dead End's cell. Pointedly not looking at the huddled pile of plating in the back of the end cell. "Hello, Dead End."

"Hey, doc." He offers me a small smile. "Come to learn more about my beauty routine?"

"That too," I allow, because I want to keep him talking. "And to see where you guys were holed up."

"There's not much to it. But there never was going to be. And it's not like it matters." He starts polishing one arm. "We were always going to end up in a hole. This is actually a better one than I'd have expected."

"Bullshit!" someone roars. I'm taken back by the human phrase even as I turn to see Motormaster glaring at me again. "This is slag! When I get out of here I'm going to pummel whoever's in charge."

"Charge charge charge," Wildrider chants. "Bet you're charged up, aren't you?"

Motormaster punches the bars, hard. In my sidevision, Breakdown flinches.

"Shut up," Motormaster growls. "You're all worthless pieces of scrap. When I get out of here, I'm getting rid of all of you."

"No more Menasor then," Drag Strip replies, though I notice he keeps well away from the bars. "Megatron won't like that."

"Megatron's dead!" Motormaster roars. "Dead and gone! Who the frag cares what he would like?"

"He wanted to kill the Prime," Dead End puts in. "Guess that's never going to happen now."

"He'll get dead," Motormaster sneers. "Not that you're gonna help, you defeatist piece of junk."

"At least I'm shiny."

This is such a dysfunctional group of mecha. I'm starting to wonder if maybe they should be separated, brothers or not.

I watch and listen for a while longer. There's not much sense to be had – it's all who's going to kill who, who's worthless and why, Drag Strip boasting, Wildrider laughing and mocking, and Motormaster snarling and shouting at everyone. In the middle of it, Dead End keeps calmly polishing, and it's clearer than ever why he does. I would need an escape too, if I had to stay around these mechs.

I knock at the door to be let out much sooner than I had thought I would.

Springer eyes me questioningly as I walk out. "Did you get what you needed?"

"Some of it." I got started on an evaluation. No conclusions yet, no treatment, just a beginning. So that if the Alliance decides any Decepticon must pay, I can at least say that the Stunticons are undergoing treatment. I can at least try to keep them safe.

I should probably do the same for the others. "You said Vortex is here?"

"He is," Springer confirms. "Did you want to see him too?"

"Yes, if that's possible. And any other Decepticon or Autobot you have in here. I'd like to do evaluations on all of them."

It's going to be a long day.

* * *

 _I thought the Stunticons were bad. Vortex is worse. He seems to want nothing more than to bring others pain, and he's skilled at it. He was another one I had to stay out of reaching distance of, but he was damn good causing pain with his words as well._

 _I'll need to focus before I try tackling him again._

 _In contrast, Sinnertwin and the brothers were almost straight-forward. They want something, so they go get it. Whether it's a fight or a race or a frag – Runamuck's words, not mine._

 _I can work with that. It's appalling behavior, but I can work with it._

 _Ratchet commed me at the end of the day. The representatives for the Alliance will be here tomorrow, and he wants me present. Just in case, he said._

 _I can only too vividly imagine what kind of case that will be._

 _I'm going to spend the evening making notes and setting up easily readable files for Starscream, the twins, the Stunties, Soundwave and anyone else I think need it. I'm not going to let the Alliance take any of my bots._

 _Regardless of what Groove thinks, this is something I can help solve. So I will do my damnedest to help. Even against the Jedi Alliance._

 _I just hope it won't be necessary._

 _Primus, I hope everything will be alright._


	10. A meeting

A/N: So, I've decided to divide up some of my chapters. That way I can post faster, and there's less massive development for each chapter. I apologize for the slow posting schedule - this story's turning political and heavy on me, and it's taxing to write. I've needed to work on some other things alongside to keep my motivation up. I'll soon be able to devote more time to this ;)

* * *

To say I'm nervous when I'm standing there with Ultra Magnus and the rest and waiting for the incoming representatives from the Intergalactic Alliance would be a massive, epic understatement.

I'm terrified half out of my wits.

I mean, it's aliens. And I grew up on _Alien_ and _Predator_ and _War of the Worlds_ and _Doctor Who_. I can vividly imagine what kind of horrors might be flying towards us.

So imagine my surprise when what's escorted in by a clearly very nervous Hot Rod and an equally apprehensive Bonecrusher looks more like a delegation from _The Apprentice_ than scary bloodsucking monsters.

Yes, granted, they're obviously aliens. As different from each other as they are from us. But they're clad in matching robes, they keep pace with each other, and they turn matching disapproving looks on us.

I feel like a bug about to be trod on. And one of the representatives is clearly evolved from some kind of insectoid, so it's a really odd feeling.

As Optimus has been charged, the others have agreed that he can't be present for the negotiations. So it's Ultra Magnus who intones the greeting and gives a slight bow. "Welcome. I hope your journey was comfortable."

Apparently the brand-new translation program that Soundwave insisted everyone install works, because Magnus is clearly not speaking in any of the languages I've heard before, and I still understand every word.

The alien in the middle bows back. "Thank you. We would like to get started as soon as possible."

"Certainly." Ultra Magnus gestures towards the seats made available on one side of the long table. "Let me introduce the rest of the Cybertronian council."

I sit still as Ultra Magnus runs through the names, trying hard not to flinch as my name is called and the aliens all focus on me. It's a relief when the table turns and the alien leader introduce all of them. The names and words make no sense, and I'm extra glad Prowl's small briefing before this meeting included telling me that I should let my HUD record the information.

My nerves are settling a bit now that I can see them and get their information up on my HUD.

"I trust the charges are clear," the speaker from before says. He's – I think it's a he – is small, near human-sized, clearly aquatic. His voice is deep, sonorous even, at odds with his elongated, slender frame. I didn't catch his name, but my HUD tells me he's a Krey, from the planet of the same name, and that his name is Tal.

Well, Tal of the Crystal Waters Depths, son of Diel son of Detar, his honor in excellence the representative of Krey, all glory to the homeworld.

I'm going to take the chance he'll be content to be called Tal.

"Yes. We do, however, wish to discuss them further."

I sit back, let the legalese that Ultra Magnus has prepared in advance wash over me. I know they'll be at it for a while before we start hashing out any details – first, Magnus' strategy is to exhaust every legal loophole he can find in the hopes that they'll realize they can't do this.

Unfortunately, the chances are small. And soon nonexistent.

"We cannot retract the charges on these grounds," Tal says. "But we will grant extra time for negotiation."

Cue another massive bout of legalese. Good thing I have a decent attentive expression.

One of the aliens won't stop staring at me. It's the giant lizard-like creature, the Axxai. I lean back, his eyes follow me. I lean forward, the same. It's unnerving.

"You're different," he says suddenly, interrupting his leader. Surprisingly, the Krey quietens and looks at him.

"Different?" I ask, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Yes." A forked tongue – split in three, not two – sneaks out to taste the air. "You teek differently from the others."

"I don't understand what that means," I offer. I mean, I know I'm different, but that was really something I had hoped wouldn't come up yet.

"Cynosura is younger than the rest of us," Prowl offers smoothly, saving me. "She is also of a different frame-type than the rest of us, identifying closer to the female than the male spectrum. Maybe that is it?"

"Maybe," the Axxai says slowly, still scrutinizing me. "I shall continue to consider that."

Well, that doesn't make me nervous at all.

It's almost midday by the time the legalese is done. Another four days has been added for discussion, and some form of agenda has been set up, to begin immediately after lunch.

First on the list is defendants.

I excuse myself as soon as I've finished my cube, citing the need to check in with a particularly vulnerable patient. It's a blatant lie, of course, but I'm not about to make small talk with these guys.

Thankfully, First Aid accepts my comm immediately.

::Are they running you up the wall already?:: His tone is teasing.

::I'm scared,:: I admit, not for the first time. They know how I feel. ::I'm scared this isn't going at all the way we want. And one of them knows I'm not like the rest of you.::

::You're like us in everything that matters,:: First Aid says firmly. ::So your origin is different. With as many different ways of coming into being that we've massed up by now, who cares about that anyway? You're one of us.::

::A rule-obsessed Alliance bent on punishing the Cybertronians might care.::

::Or they might not. Don't worry about things you don't have to, love. Besides, you've got three adoptive creators in that meeting with you, you really think any of them would let the Alliance do anything even in the neighborhood of harmful to you?::

I grin at the mental image of Ratchet, Prowl and Jazz all rising to my defense, wrenches and curses flying, then sober almost instantly when I remember what such a defense would mean. ::They're here as a diplomatic envoy, Aid. There's no defending me.::

::Maybe not physically. But don't for a moment think that any one of them would let something bad happen to you, Isobel.::

::Yeah. Yeah, I guess.:: I change the subject, needing to focus on something else. ::Will you be home later?::

::Yes, as soon as my replacement gets on shift. We can spend the evening together all three of us.::

::I'd like that.::

::Oh? Did you have anything in particular in mind?:: There's that teasing tone again, but then it turns almost sultry. _Damn_ him, I still have half a day of meetings to get through before I can think of what I'd like to do to both of them, or have them do to me. Even if my frame already has other ideas.

::You sly fragger.::

He laughs at me, proving my point. ::I love you, I'm entitled. Go be awesome, love. We'll see you later.::

I have to smile at that. ::Love you back.::

"Cynosura? Ya ready?"

I turn to face Jazz. They're all very careful not to use my human name when the Alliance representatives are here. "Yes. Let's get back to it."

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I am so not cut out to be a diplomat. Or a lawyer. Sitting around for hours discussing nuances and precedents and having to be polite and listening to your counterpart when they're trying to argue for why they should be allowed to_ put your leader to death… _No. It's not me._

 _Thankfully, it seems Ultra Magnus is thriving under these circumstances. And it looks like he may be able to convince them that having Optimus executed is too much. He's not saying it like that – he's all full of phrases like 'religious significance' and 'sacred artifacts' and 'insight into the will of Primus' and 'lack of other candidates for leadership' and how Cybertron is still rebuilding, and the loss of the Prime would strike a severe blow to the peace._

 _He's not wrong. And the Alliance seems to realize that too. A peaceful Cybertron is in everyone's best interest, really, considering how much havoc the factions wreaked when they were at war._

 _So it looks like Optimus might be safe. Maybe. Hopefully. There's definitely a risk of severe punishment, and I'm sure the Alliance reps are taking the night to come up with something particularly gruesome, but he'll live._

 _I wish that was enough of a relief. But I can't help wondering what's ahead._

* * *

I managed to clear the first part of the day for myself, since Ratchet had done the same thing. Ultra Magnus promised to make sure any aspects of the discussion that required our presence would be postponed until after lunch.

Half a day doesn't give me much. But it lets me observe Starscream for an hour or so.

"How's he doing?" Behind the glass in front of me, Starscream is staring into the empty air.

Cliffjumper shrugs. "About the same, as you can see. Not that I'd expected anything else, considering that's been the norm for the last vorn." He glances up at me. "You plan to start working with him soon?"

"I plan to start working with him every day I come out here," I reply. "But I can't start working with him unless he's receptive to it. Some days, it might make him worse." Starscream hasn't moved, he's still just staring. Completely retreated into his own mind. Hiding.

I make a spur-of-the-moment decision. "Take me inside."

It's Ion Storm escorting me today. Starscream doesn't react when we stop in front of him.

He's hidden deep inside himself. At this point, I'm not sure how to get him out.

"Air Commander," Ion Storm tries. "… Winglord."

Not a flicker.

"Starscream." I sit down on the couch opposite him. "My name is Cynosura. I wanted to talk to you about the Intergalactic Alliance."

It's a shot in the dark. But I can't go near anything that's traumatic to him, not yet.

"Do you know of them?" I press on. "They seem to believe they have the right to act as judge and jury over us. That they can throw their weight around and we'll obey. That they can punish us however they please." The parallels to his own life might be enough to jostle him. "Do you know of them? Starscream?"

Nothing.

"I've talked to your trinemates," I try. "Skywarp is happy, but I know he misses you. Thundercracker does as well. And with this peace, they can truly thrive. As can you."

I might as well be talking to a wall. Ion Storm looks a bit dejected.

Well, I'm good at talking to walls. I've dealt with a few of them before.

So I make myself a bit more comfortable, and settle in to talk Starscream into submission. Or out of it, really.

* * *

I somehow manage to get back to the council building just after the midday break. I'm in a foul mood, too – Starscream didn't really show any signs of responding, but Ion Storm kept looking at me with such hope in his optics, and Cliffjumper just sighed when I left.

Everyone wants Starscream to get better. And I'm beyond frustrated with myself for not having figured out how to help him yet.

So it's not with the most generous of dispositions that I take my seat again, cradling my hastily grabbed energon cube. Ratchet is next to me, clearly noticing my mood, because he squeezes my shoulder comfortingly.

It's the wrong avenue for a hug. But I wish for one anyway.

That damn Axxai is still staring at me.

I make an effort to ignore him, to pull myself together. Magnus is reiterating what they've discussed so far, which sounds like arguments over specific word phrases. I didn't miss much.

"Now, for this session, I believe you wished to open, Honorable Echo." Ultra Magnus turns towards the large – almost my size – insect-like alien on the far left of the table. "The word is yours."

"Gratitude." The translation program is struggling with this one. I understand what he says, but just barely – every sound is interspersed with clicking and low short rumbles, like he's speaking two languages simultaneously, neither of them following similar grammar rules to any language I've heard before. The narrow mandibles on either side of his jaw twitch and move as he speaks. "Understanding, discussion necessary. However, this one concern about current topic. Time limited. Alliance requirement understanding of charges and punishment. These topics perhaps more important, not thought?"

I can almost see Ultra Magnus suppress a sigh. Ratchet is somewhat less diplomatic, as usual.

"You want to discuss charges and punishment? Well, let's discuss charges and punishment. You mean to prosecute one mech for four million years of atrocities committed by both sides of a war that he had no blame for starting. You mean to put all the blame on the defender, making him culpable for everything bad that any Cybertronian committed in the name of war. How is that a fair charge?"

The insect ambassador looks at him. I can't read his expression at all. "Not truth. Two mechs charge."

Ratchet stares back, and his expression isn't hard to gauge at all. "Well, Megatron's dead. How will you punish a dead mech?"

Honorable Echo leans back, suddenly all clicking. The other Alliance ambassadors are muttering in languages I don't understand as well.

Prowl stares at them. "You… weren't aware that Megatron had been killed?"

"Not aware," the insectoid clicks. "Information substandard."

"I'll say," Ratchet grumbles. "It's only one of the criteria we had for peace in the first place."

"Megatron was taken down by his own second," Ultra Magnus sums up, like it's so much budget allocation. "He was destroyed. We made peace after that, and the peace has lasted. Megatron can't be punished."

"His second killed him?" Tal asks. "That is interesting information. If you'll allow, I think we shall withdraw and discuss this further with the Alliance leaders."

"If you wish." Ultra Magnus is clearly not happy. "Shall we reconvene tomorrow?"

"Yes. And then we can resume our discussion." Tal somehow manages to sound both menacing and bureaucratic at once.

I hate these aliens.

That damn lizard is _still_ staring at me.

I sit there, practically seething, as Ultra Magnus declares the meeting adjourned. The aliens file out, the Axxai only looking away from me at the last moment. The door closes behind them, and everyone's focus turns to Prowl for some reason. He's tense, doorwings held high, his mate's hand on his arm.

I wait. It's that kind of atmosphere.

Finally, he nods. "Red Alert says they're gone. Back in their allocated quarters."

It's like someone's let the air out of the balloon. The tension in the air just pops suddenly.

Ultra Magnus turns to me. He looks tired. "Cynosura, we'll need your help. You need to prepare a defense for Starscream."

I nod. "I know. I've begun already. I've also prepped documentation for the head trine, the Stunticons, the Combaticons –" I haven't really talked to all of them now, but I did on Earth, and I figure it counts – "and Soundwave."

Soundwave and Thundercracker both stare at me.

"Good." Ultra Magnus sighs. "I hope we won't need it. But it's well within their rules to exact judgment on lower members of command if the leader himself cannot for some reason be charged."

"Do we need to prepare defenses for ourselves?" Prowl asks. I can see his hand tightening on Jazz's from here.

"I shouldn't think so. Not when they're content to charge Optimus, and he's letting himself be charged." The tiny frown on Ultra Magnus' face shows he's equally as upset as Ratchet. The medic is standing in the corner, looking decidedly unhappy and watching the street below.

"Self-sacrificing bastard," he murmurs. I have to agree.

"Where are these rules anyway?" I ask, looking back at Ultra Magnus. "I know you know them, but I couldn't find them in the archives, and I couldn't find them in my files. I thought they'd be stored with our laws, but they're not." And that's beyond weird, really, now that I think about it. If we need to obey these laws, shouldn't they be written down somewhere? "If I'm going to mount a full defense for Starscream, I'll need to know what clauses they'll be using."

Ultra Magnus nods. "That's a good point. I'll have the necessary datapads delivered to your residence."

"Thank you." That'll help. Though it looks like I have a long, long night of plowing through legalese in front of me.

"Hey," Jazz says softly. Suddenly he's right ahead of me. "It'll be okay, sweetspark. Groove'll help ya out for tonight. Ya got this."

"I hope so." I nod, a bit shakily. "I've never had people depending on me like this before. It's a lot of responsibility."

Jazz grins. "Ya kidding me? Ya had people dependin' on you all th' time, Isobel. It's just the first time there's been a trial."

I look up at him. "There'll be a trial? Not just these meetings?"

"There'll be a trial," he confirms. "Not too different from what ya's used to from Earth, I think. Witnesses and judges and that sort of thing."

"That's true! Primus," Ultra Magnus exclaims, and he suddenly sounds almost excited. Which is weird for him. That's probably why we're all staring at him again. "Primus, Jazz, you're right. I can't believe I didn't see it."

"Didn't see what?" Prowl looks perplexed, like there's nothing Ultra Magnus doesn't see. I bet he's thrown for a loop – he's based all his plans on Ultra Magnus knowing what he's talking about, and suddenly he doesn't.

"The judge," Ultra Magnus says. He's almost smiling. "If it's one of their own member species that has committed a crime, the Alliance Council judges the cases themselves. But we're not a member species. They banned us three and a half million years ago."

"We can demand an independent judge," Prowl says, and now he's grinning too. This is apparently good news. Jazz beams in front of me – Prowl is so excited it seems to be rubbing off on his mate. "Oh, that betters our chances significantly."

"Think on it," Ultra Magnus replies. "I'll need your predictions before the meeting tomorrow, Prowl."

"Of course."

"That gives you the afternoon off after all, Cynosura," Ultra Magnus continues, turning to me. "We'll still need your documentation on the leading Decepticons, but it's no point for you to read through the laws if we use an independent judge. An independent judge applies their own laws to the case."

I'm grateful. And kind of terrified. I'll have to cover a lot of eventualities.

"On that note, I think we should all go home," the big mech continues. "We all have places we'd rather be, I think."

Jazz takes my hand. "C'mon, sweetspark. We'll see you and Ratchet home."

I let myself be pulled along, snagging up Ratchet as we pass him. He looks beat, defeated, and I squeeze his hand. "Hey. It'll be okay."

The smile I get in return is tired, and not Ratchet at all. "You don't know that. This may be the time where it isn't okay at all, sparklet."

"And it may be the time where everything works out as it should," I argue as we head down the ramp. "You can't know that in advance. We may yet make this. You know no one's going to let him just surrender. We'll fight for him, Ratchet. All of us. So don't give up yet, okay?"

"Fine." He transforms once we're out on the road. "Go home, Isobel. Relax. Get some recharge. Enjoy those mates of yours."

If I were human, I'd be blushing all the way to my hairline. "Not mates. You know that."

"Not yet," Ratchet answers smugly. "I'm not betting against you three."

I'm not, either. But I'm not telling him that. Especially not with Jazz standing there and snickering at me.

"How did I get saddled with you three on my case anyway?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Jazz replies, still chuckling as he transforms. "Now let's go."

Prowl squeezes my shoulder. "Come on, Isobel. Time to go home."

I hold back a bit. "Groove and First Aid won't be home for a while yet anyway. Can you take me out to see the twins?"

He smiles a bit. "Not sure they will be happy to see me, but I can at least escort you. Come on."


	11. Untangling

Prowl is wrong. Sideswipe gives him a cautious smile when we get there. "Hey, Prowl. What brings you out here?"

"Isobel needed an escort." He shrugs. "I won't intrude on your privacy."

"Are you kidding? You've had our backs as long as we've known you. And Sunny's in a much better place now, he can handle a visit." He nods towards the cave entrance. "Come on in."

Prowl holds back a bit, then nods. "Let me tell Jazz I'll be late."

I don't think Jazz will mind at all. Not when he knows why Prowl isn't coming back yet.

I follow those black and white doorwings through the tunnel. I'd have expected him to have issues getting through, but either he's got supreme control over them and is used to getting through tight spots, or Sideswipe's widened the passage a bit.

Now that I look around, it may be a bit of both.

Sunstreaker looks up and smiles tentatively at Prowl. I can tell Prowl's happy to see him as well, and I'm struck with the sudden realization that for someone like Prowl, who's been pulling mecha back from the brink as long as he's been with the Autobots, watching Sunstreaker slowly killing himself the way he's been doing must have been extremely painful.

My respect for Prowl climbs even higher. It takes a special kind of individual to respect someone's wishes in that situation. He's been supporting them, fighting to keep them alive and functioning, giving them what they needed – including space and privacy.

"It's good to see you, Sunstreaker," he says, and it's all there, in his tone, the cant of his doorwings, the small smile on his face, in his optics.

"Likewise," Sunstreaker replies, smile growing a bit. "Thanks, Prowl."

This is a profound moment. There's so much more going on than what's been said.

And then the spell breaks. Sunstreaker turns to me and grins. "Have you decided on paints yet?"

"I thought you were deciding," I tease back. "I thought the master was the only one fit to decide what went into his masterpiece. Wasn't that what you said?"

He laughs at that. I'm so relieved to see him so much better than he was, I can barely keep myself upright. "I did. I don't have the right colors here, though. So either you have to bring them, or I have to order them in via Prowl here."

"I can bring them next time," I promise. "Just write me a list or something. I know about as much about paint pigment as the average human, which isn't a lot."

"I can do that. Come here and pose for me."

I giggle a bit, remembering the last time I did. "You going to paint Praxus on my back again?"

Sideswipe laughs. "Don't tempt him."

"Praxus on your back?" Prowl asks. I'd forgotten that he hasn't seen those images, or even knows it happened.

I nod. "Something we did when I was human. I asked Sunstreaker to paint me. It was gorgeous."

"I think Rewind still has the images," Sideswipe supplies. He looks at his brother shrewdly. "Maybe you should show them, Sunny. A gallery viewing."

"We don't have a gallery," Sunstreaker objects. He's circling me slowly. "And besides, Isobel has equal rights to those pictures. And she's practically naked in them."

Prowl makes a choking sound behind me.

"I don't mind," I reply. Strangely enough, I really don't. "That was gorgeous art, and if you want to show if off, you can."

"I'll think about it. Now hold still." He keeps circling me, touching parts of me here and there. "Do you have anything you don't want me to do?"

"I kind of like the basic scheme of this," I reply. "And my visor stays."

"Fair enough. That still gives me a lot of leeway." He sits down, takes out a datapad. "Okay, done. Do whatever."

It's another sign that he's coming back to himself. Casually dismissive Sunstreaker is so familiar, it almost aches.

I make myself comfortable in the pile of pillows, listening with one audio as Sideswipe and Prowl talk. It's very soothing, being here and not having to work. Sunstreaker isn't a client anymore at this point. He's finding his way back, slowly, but he's doing it. I'll be here as his friend, as family. And that means I can lean on them in return. So lying here, relaxing, having no one needing anything of me and just enjoying their company, is a balm. I hadn't realized how stressed I was.

I'm almost in recharge when something the others are saying catch my attention.

"… more like a snarl than anything else," Sideswipe says. "It's like… Like the coding's just gotten tangled, and we can't untangle it on our own. Every sudden sound outside triggers his defensive systems, forcing him to be alert. We were on the track First Aid told us to go to, and the vibrations from our driving caused a rusted-out old structure by the track to collapse. It took me two hours to talk him down enough that we could leave and go home."

"Hmm," Prowl replies. "Do you think you need a coding expert? Or is it just that there's not enough capacity to defrag and detangle the priority trees properly?"

"I don't know," Sideswipe sighs. "I hope we don't need a coding expert, Sunny's not too keen on letting anyone in his head like that. But we don't have the processor space between us to make sense of it."

"Maybe I can help," Prowl offers. "I do have a specialized processor, meant to handle large priority trees and massive eventuality planning. If I shut down some of the processes I have running, there might be enough space to help." He suddenly sounds hesitant. "If you'd trust me with a hardline connection, that is."

"Sure we do. You've always had our backs. Should we set up a time, or would now work?"

Curiosity finally gets the better of me, and I twist to look at them. "What are you talking about?"

"We're talking about letting Sunstreaker defragment his processors properly," Prowl replies. "He's functioned on poor recharge for so long that his priority trees and coding are a mess. Hardlining during recharge lets a mech borrow processor speed from others to ease the defrag." He glances at Sunstreaker, who's still engrossed in his datapad. "We can do it now, if that works. I'm already here. It will mean a later return to town, though." He looks at me questioningly.

I shrug. "It's fine by me, if it can help him."

"It may. And honestly, you should know how this works too, Isobel. It's a useful technique." He smiles slightly at Sideswipe. "And I don't think either of these two will mind you joining the hardline."

Sideswipe chuckles. "Sunstreaker would be thrilled."

"You should comm First Aid, though," Prowl continues. "Tell him you'll be late. And what we're doing."

It's good advice. I don't want my Protectobots to worry. So I move away from the others slightly, aiming for a semblance of privacy.

::First Aid?::

::Isobel? Something wrong?::

::No, not really. I'm out at the twins' place with Prowl, and he's going to try help Sunstreaker with his defrag. Via hardline?:: It turns into a question on the end there for some reason.

::Oh, that's a good idea!:: First Aid sounds enthusiastic, medic that he is. ::You should ask to observe, love. It might give you some ideas.::

::That was the plan.:: I hesitate. ::You don't mind?::

First Aid seems to get what I'm talking about. ::A hardline connection is only intimate in that it's personal, love. This is nothing like when we interface. You'll be connected mind to mind, so you can share memories and thoughts. Prowl's probably going to lend his fairly impressive processor capabilities to Sunstreaker's. It'll be a good thing for you to know how to do.::

::Okay. Good.:: His words are reassuring. ::Don't wait up for me?::

::Please.:: He laughs. ::Like we won't be waiting for you until we're in recharge still sitting up. Love you, Cynosura.::

::Love you too, First Aid. I'll see you later.::

I turn towards the others. Sunstreaker's joined his brother and Prowl, and is lying back with his head in Sideswipe's lap. Prowl is unspooling a plug and cable from an open panel in his side. He's got twice as many ports and plugs as me.

Cybertron's already rubbing off on me. I feel almost embarrassed, looking at this. Like I'm a peeping tom or something.

"You ready?" Sideswipe looks at me.

I nod. I'm ready.

* * *

I sit back against the cushions and watch as Prowl connects us all with sure, gentle fingers. For the moment, nothing's happening – they've all got their firewalls up still. I can feel the barely-tempered energy that is Sunstreaker, the calm reassurance of Prowl, the faintly-there presence of Sideswipe. Prowl connects the last cable, and Sideswipe jumps into focus.

"There," Prowl says softly. He reaches out, rests two fingers against Sunstreaker's helm. "Recharge."

Something darts over the connection between Prowl and Sunstreaker, and Sunstreaker's optics flicker and dim. Then Prowl closes his eyes, Sunstreaker's firewalls drop, and I'm sucked into a dark space.

… almost dark. There are threads of bright light around me; snarls and tangles of gold, sharp lances of red, gentle curves of luminous white. And my own, a soft, curving green.

 **His mind is a mass of tangled coding.** The not-quite-sound seems to come from the bright red lances.

 **Yes, I see. Let me assist.** The white ribbons somehow meld up with the gold, and suddenly the gold… melts away. Not all of it, just enough for it to be noticeable.

 **Come.** Prowl's mind-voice is beckoning me in. **Come see.**

I follow the touch of the white ribbon, into a space that seems somehow bigger than the one I was just in. It's not a physical thing - there are no barriers or visible walls or such. There's not much visible at all, really. But it feels bigger. More cavernous.

Maybe it's that the golden snarls suddenly look so small.

 **I'm here, Sunstreaker. Use me.**

The gold melds with the white again. There's so much more white here than gold, and the gold coats the white strands slowly, gently, leaving a faint gold edge along a lot of the white ribbons.

 **What is going on?**

 **Prowl is letting Sunstreaker use his processors,** the red lances reply. **Sunny doesn't know he's doing it. Prowl had to pull him in, but he's taking over now.**

 **Taking over? Isn't that dangerous?**

 **He's not taking over like that. It's not a conscious decision. His processor's taking over the process, arranging his priority trees, pulling on the processes that need to defrag. We'll be able to see if it's working in a while.**

It feels like I'm in that space for ages, and yet not. I sense more than watch the gentle pulsing of the bright cords around me, tracing the gold edges to the white, the red lances hovering.

Then, suddenly, one of the gold snarls dissipate, leaving only a straight ribbon of golden light peeling away from the white.

Good. It's working.

Over a lifetime or mere seconds, I'm not sure, I observe as the gold snarls gradually lessen. When the white light finally guides us back to the first space, there are more gold waves than gold snarls among the red lances.

 **We will leave it here for now. I don't want to push too hard.** Prowl's mind-voice is apologetic. **I need to be able to get home.**

Suddenly I'm pushed back, thrown out into my own frame, and I open my eyes with a gasp. A quick chrono check reveals that more than three hours have passed.

It felt like minutes.

Prowl lifts his head. He looks exhausted. "That'll help a bit, I think."

Sideswipe disconnects our cables from a still recharging Sunstreaker's ports, a gentleness and care in his movements that I hadn't expected. I spool my own cable back as he passes the plug to me. "That'll help a lot. I'll recharge connected to him for a couple of nights, see if we can't make some more progress."

"Good." Prowl closes his panel. "Please call me if you need more help. I may not be able to come myself, but someone will be here if you need it." He in-vents slowly, leaning back against the cushions. "I think I'll take advantage of that energon I supply you with and fuel up before I bring Isobel home."

"Sure. Help yourselves." Sideswipe grins. "I'm going to stay connected for a while longer. He's not letting me go."

"He wouldn't," Prowl replies dryly. He doesn't seem ready to move, so I get up and dig out energon for all three of us from Sideswipe's stockpile. Prowl looks grateful. "You should recharge too, Sideswipe, as soon as you've fueled. He will be drawing on you quite heavily."

"I know. I can feel it already. I'll be in recharge as soon as you two have left." Sideswipe takes a cube, giving me a grateful smile. "Thanks, pet."

I nod at him as I hand the other cube to Prowl. "Sure. What was that, anyway? All those ribbons and stuff?"

"A visualization of our priority trees and coding," Prowl replies. "I set it up like that because I thought it would be easy for you to follow. Ratchet may do everything differently, if you ever get the chance to watch him do it."

"So you pulled him into your own mind," I guess, "because there's more room there?"

Sideswipe snickers. I guess I see why. I don't think Prowl's been called an airhead all that often. Even unintentionally.

"That's correct." Prowl doesn't seem to be offended. He downs his cube easily, prompting me to do the same. "It's easier for the autonomous processes to latch onto my free defrag space when I do like that."

"You sound like you've done this before." It's almost a question, and I keep looking at him as I drain the last of my fuel.

"Several times, most often for Jazz," Prowl replies. "His spec ops routines sometimes demands it." He stands, stretch a bit. "You ready to get back to civilization?"

"Yeah. I'll see you, Sideswipe. Remind your brother to comm me with those color codes."

"I will," Sideswipe promises. "Bye, you two. Thanks for the assist!"

"Of course," Prowl replies, a small smile on his face. "You know I'll do what I can to help."

Sideswipe's already powering down when I enter the tunnel to the outside. I walk through the passage as quietly as I can, though I doubt anything will wake up either of them at this point. _I'm_ tired, and I didn't do anything but watch.

As if on cue, Prowl stumbles behind me.

"Are you sure you're okay to drive back to town?" I ask, giving him a critical look-over. "I won't have Jazz yelling at me because I let you drive and then you end up in a ditch somewhere."

"I'm fine." He looks tired, but happy. "Just let me drive behind you so I can follow your taillight. That'll let my old enforcer coding take over and I don't have to concentrate."

That's a lot of trust he's showing me. It's kind of humbling.

"Sure," I agree. "I can do that."

* * *

I drive all the way to Prowl and Jazz's place, Prowl a sleepy presence close to my rear tire. Jazz is waiting outside for us as we pull up.

"Thanks for gettin' him home," he says, as I transform. Prowl follows a moment later, transformation sequence sluggish. He looks asleep on his feet. "He usually doesn't do this and then go drivin' afterward."

"No problem." I have to smile as Prowl more or less collapses against Jazz, engine purring softly and head resting on Jazz's shoulder. "Get him to berth before he falls down."

He chuckles a bit. "Will do. You okay t' drive home without an escort?"

"I just drove here with a recharging Prowl following my taillight," I reply dryly. "I know no one's signed off on me being unsupervised yet, but I think I'll manage to get home. Just promise you'll defend me if Ratchet freaks out over it."

"I think he's got bigger things t' freak out over," Jazz says, and I can't help but agree. "Thanks, sweetspark."

I wave at their backs and transform, driving away. I take care to obey every traffic rule, keeping my speed sedate. I have a lot to think about.

Not the least of which, whether Ratchet has already tried something like this with Starscream. Or if he has, maybe we need to try it again.


	12. Breaking defenses

Somehow, I manage to get to the council building just in time. I never thought I'd make it when I got up – oversleeping really is a thing, even as a giant alien robot. At least I live fairly close by.

I'm barely in my seat before the door opens and the alien delegates march in. I know these guys on sight by now, who's which species and what their names are, and I'm so tired of them I can barely stomach it. But today's important.

"Good morning," Ultra Magnus begins. "Please be seated."

"I trust we can get to business quickly today," Tal says crisply. "There is much to discuss."

"Indeed." Magnus nods, more benevolently than I feel they've earned. "Today's itinerary is on the table in front of you."

They all glance down. Ultra Magnus has been kind enough to supply size-appropriate datapads. I'm petty enough to wish he'd made it just a little bit more difficult for them.

Tal glances down for a moment, and then he glares at Ultra Magnus. So do the rest of them, for that matter. "Defendants should be first point. Why has that been changed?"

"Because we need to discuss the matter of the trial first," Prowl replies smoothly. "It has an impact on the rest of our discussion."

Honorable Echo sets off in that click-speech of his. "No impact. Trial secure. Defendants discussion now."

"I'm afraid it has great impact," Ultra Magnus repeats, and now he looks _smug_. It's tiny, but it's there. I'm trying really hard not to smile.

"Standard guidelines will be followed when it comes to the trial," Tal says, frowning slightly. It looks interesting with that rubbery dolphin-skin of his. "There is not much leeway there."

"This is a common set of rules used for any member-species trial, correct?" Ultra Magnus says.

"That is correct." Tal looks nervous now. I'm gloating inside.

Ultra Magnus smiles. "We're not a member species. We never have been. In fact, we were banned from the Alliance three and a half million years ago."

For a moment, the aliens just stare.

"This is irrelevant," the Axxai says finally. "The trial will commence as planned."

"It will not." Ultra Magnus' voice is suddenly as steely and hard as the rest of him. "We will not submit to the authority of the Alliance. We demand the right to have our case heard by an independent tribunal."

The Axxai hisses. "Recess." He stands and stalks away from the table. The others follow him, Honorable Echo clicking and hissing as well.

The door closes, and I grin at Ultra Magnus. "That was totally awesome."

"Thank you." He looks pleased. "I don't think it will throw them for long. But it gives us an edge, since we can work within the laws of the tribunal species, rather than the Alliance's own rules."

"Have you considered which species we're appealing to?" Thundercracker asks. "I mean, most of them aren't friendly to us. Or they're not advanced enough for us to contact."

"We have a plan." Prowl looks at me, smiling slightly. "We're going to ask for the humans to be judges."

"Earth?" I'm glad I'm sitting down, because I'm suddenly feeling faint. "We're going to let Earth judge?"

Prowl's smile melts away, and he frowns at me. "You disagree? Earth was friendly to the Autobots, for the most part, and we were on decent terms with the United States government. This gives us a good chance."

"Not to mention that Earth already has a tribunal in place that handles war crimes," Ultra Magnus supplies. "They should be able to handle our case. Also, we can easily download their laws, since Rumble and Frenzy _somehow_ gets their internet even all the way out here." The disapproval of that specific fact is clear in his tone.

"Specialized senders," Soundwave defends himself. "Cassettes: set up transmitters in distant locations."

"It actually boosts our chances significantly," Prowl says. He looks at me worriedly. "Don't you agree?"

"Does this mean we'll be going back to Earth?" Now my voice is faint too.

"Possibly. If the humans can't come here." Ratchet frowns at me, and the tingle of a scan washes over my plating. "Are you okay, sparklet?"

"I'm fine. Yeah, I'm fine." I shake my head, trying to get my brain back in working order. "I'd just resigned to never dealing with Earth again, that's all. So this is a lot to take in." I look at Ultra Magnus and Prowl. "It's probably a good plan."

"It's the best plan we have," Prowl replies. "The one that gives us the best chances."

Ultra Magnus nods. "We'll need to review their laws in full, but based on what we have in our databases, Earth offers the most lenient punishments as well. In fact, I believe -"

"They're comin' back," Jazz interrupts suddenly, and Ultra Magnus falls silent. They all school their faces back to neutrality, which is hilarious to watch. Ratchet winks at me as the door opens.

"All right," Tal says before even sitting down. He sounds angry. "Your right to an independent tribunal has been taken into account, and protocol for this will be followed. Do you have a species you would like to approach?"

"Yes." Ultra Magnus hands over a new datapad, small in his hands. "Earth, in the C136 quadrant. We've been there before. The species has thus had experience with alien races, though they're not an Alliance member."

Tal takes the datapad. "We will review this and get back to you. Now, I believe we meant to discuss the defendants. Szannet?"

The Axxai nods. "Indeed. We have established that Optimus Prime will be charged for the rest of the Autobot faction. We had planned to charge Megatron, self-styled Lord Megatron, for the rest of the Decepticon faction. As he is deceased, we will instead charge his second in command, Winglord Starscream of Vos."

"I'm afraid we must object to that," Prowl says smoothly. "Starscream is not in his right mind, and is incarcerated for his own safety. Cynosura?"

I nod. This is what I've been prepping for, but suddenly I'm more nervous than I can remember ever being. Starscream's fate is in my hands. Or close enough to it. "Thank you, Prowl." I look at the Axxai. "This is correct. Starscream was systematically abused by his leader over a period lasting millions of years. When his mind finally broke, he reacted violently and attacked Megatron, ultimately killing him. The actions were too much for his mind, and he's retreated into himself. He cannot be interviewed or in other manners expected to explain or defend himself. He cannot be charged with this."

"Then maybe his third in command, hmm? Soundwave, is it?" Tal seems to almost be enjoying himself, the slagger.

"That is not acceptable either." My voice is cold. "Soundwave has acted under duress for the majority of the war, under threat to himself and his family, and living with constant abuse as well. You cannot place the blame for the war on him."

I can feel Soundwave's optics on me. Yeah, take that, slagger, I'm defending you.

Szannet sneers. It's an impressive look with all those teeth. "Starscream and Soundwave will both be charged. And we will leave it up to the tribunal whether the charges will be dropped or not."

I seethe at him. But I know Earth's laws. Or how they were a hundred years ago, anyway. I'm fairly sure I can get them both off.

At least I hope so.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I really hate bureaucracy, have I mentioned that? Hate it. At least we've gotten to the point now where I don't have to show up for the meetings anymore. Ultra Magnus had me excused since I'm not a regular member of the council. Ratchet somehow managed to get himself excused too, mainly through sheer force of will. It was an impressive sight._

 _Prowl and Ultra Magnus and the rest will keep working on those damn aliens, but there's one good thing. Since they've agreed to let us use an independent tribunal, that buys us time. It'll take a while to contact them, to travel there, to have the tribunal set up. I hope the War Tribunal still exists, that would simplify things._

 _Going back to Earth. The thought is so surreal, I don't even know what to believe. If I'm looking forward to being back there or not. I mean, a hundred years, probably closer to a hundred and fifty will have passed by the time we get this trial on its feet._

 _So weird._

 _It puts me in a bit of a tricky spot too. Because it gives me the time I need to work with Starscream. But at the same time, I don't want him to be so much better that he's actually punishable by law. It's hard to know if I should even treat him or not now. If I should prioritize his health or his defense._

 _But I want to get him well enough to at least be happy for his brother when Skywarp gets bonded. I want him to where he can interact with others again. Hopefully, that won't be too much. Hopefully, that won't make him eligible for punishment._

 _I had a chance to talk to Ratchet, and he said they'd tried something similar to what Prowl was doing with Starscream. But it's been a while, and he'd be happy to try it again. I can't help but think there has to be something more to it, though. Unlike Sunstreaker, Starscream's chosen to hide in his own mind. He didn't just have a panic attack that stuck – which is a supremely simplified way of putting it, but it'll do. Just untangling coding won't do much good, we need to get his will involved._

 _I'm wondering if I need to include Skywarp and Thundercracker somehow. Maybe I need to talk to them again about how trines work._

* * *

It's a relief to be back at the clinic. It's mundane, somehow. Dealing with my normal clients, planning more talks, taking Smokescreen through test scenarios. It's nice.

Or, it is until I get an unscheduled visitor.

"You sure you want to let him in?" Smokescreen looks ready to leap to my defense. It's flattering, but not necessary.

"I'm sure." I wave a hand towards the front room. "You know he's here. And after the meetings I've been in this week, I think he has a vested interest in keeping me alive and well."

"If you're sure. I'll be just outside, okay?" He steps back, nods at my visitor. "She'll see you now."

Soundwave walks into my office.

He looks unsure, somehow, beneath that mask and visor. He walks slowly, making sure to not put himself between me and the exit, looking like he'd rather not be here. I'm really not sure why he is.

"Soundwave," I acknowledge. "To what do I owe your visit?"

He fidgets for a moment, which is also really strange. "Soundwave: wished to express thanks. For defense."

For a moment, I don't understand what he's talking about. Then it comes to me. "At the meeting yesterday?"

"Affirmative. Soundwave…" He hesitates, then reaches up to touch his mask. I don't really understand what he's doing until his hands come away again.

His lower face is bare. I have to look twice to make sure I'm not imagining things.

"I… realize I have no right," he says haltingly, "to ask anything. My actions: unforgivable. But even so…" He frowns slightly, lower face much more expressive than I'd expected. "Even so, I would… like to apologize. I regret everything I did. I never wanted to harm you." Then the mask snicks across his face again, hiding the delicate features. If I had to guess, I'd say being without it causes him genuine stress. Another issue for us to work on. "Forgiveness: not expected. Actions: unforgivable. Soundwave: indebted."

I stare at him for another moment. The apology seems to be genuine, considering the clear emotions that were visible on his face. Which I'm still getting over – I bet the number of mechs who've seen Soundwave without his mask on can be counted on one hand.

He still looks almost nervous.

Slag.

"Oh, forget about it," I say heavily. "I'm not saying I'm forgiving you. Or that I trust you. And I don't want to see Rumble or Frenzy anywhere near me unless I specifically allow it. But we have bigger things to worry about, and I can't go around being scared of you anymore. It takes energy I don't have." I manage a smile. "And you're welcome. I will defend the Decepticons who acted under duress, and that includes you."

Soundwave seems to relax minutely. "Duress: not present at first."

It occurs to me that in front of me is the only Decepticon I know of who was at Megatron's side from the very beginning of the rebellion. And by the way he's acting, I'd say he's willing to talk. So I gesture towards the chair in front of him. "Want to talk about it?"

"Affirmative." He hesitates, though. "Query: possibility of Thundercracker being present?"

I shrug, shoulder blades dipping behind me. "If you want him here, and he's not busy, sure."

Soundwave manages the trick of looking mildly embarrassed with his entire face masked. "Thundercracker: waiting outside."

That's interesting. I file that away for looking at later. "All right then. Ask him to come inside."

I have time to jot down a draft of the announcement for my next group session before Thundercracker walks in. Well, half of it, anyway. He really must have been right outside.

He glances at Soundwave as he walks in, then at me. "Hey."

I nod back. "Welcome. Close the door, please. And have a seat."

Soundwave barely waits until Thundercracker's seated, on the chair next to him this time instead of the corner, before speaking again.

"Soundwave: there at the beginning," he says slowly. "In the arena. Megatron: excellent fighter. Soundwave: drawn in." He in-vents heavily.

"Might be easier without the mask, babe," Thundercracker murmurs.

 _Babe?_

Well, that's surprising. Good thing I'm good at schooling my face to stillness.

Thundercracker looks at me quickly, and I pretend I didn't hear him. Or at least not that part.

"Negative," Soundwave replies. "One challenge: sufficient." He does reach out and takes Thundercracker's hand, though. Apparently, he doesn't mind Thundercracker's little slip in front of me.

I listen patiently as Soundwave tells a story that matches what Hook told me, except for the earlier start. Megatron was passionate, and Soundwave cared deeply for him – he doesn't say 'love', but the way Thundercracker's hand tightens on his may be giving it away anyway. And at first, Megatron was apparently worthy of it. It was only later, when he started meeting resistance, that things started to go downhill.

Soundwave talks of a leader who was a friend, who promised shelter and protection, who Soundwave trusted not only with his own life, but with those of his cassettes as well. For the first time he'd thrived, felt valued for his skills. It's no wonder he was loyal for as long as he was, really. Megatron earned it in those early days, and even the following abuse wasn't enough to shake Soundwave's faith in him. Not until they landed on Earth.

"Soundwave: aware of Megatron's abusive nature," Soundwave says. "Seekers: main target." He turns toward Thundercracker. "Soundwave: regrets inaction now." He in-vents shakily. I notice tiny tremors running over his plating.

"Megatron was… I don't know what to say." Thundercracker sighs. "I wasn't in his head, or even in his confidences. Not that anyone but Soundwave really was. But he didn't like losing, and he didn't like not knowing how to handle things, and when he thought he came out looking bad he'd take it out on us. Establish his dominance, as it were." He grimaces. "Sometimes by tearing wings from frames or beating us into stasis."

Soundwave makes this little noise that I'd call a tiny keen if he were human.

Thundercracker seems to understand that Soundwave doesn't want to talk anymore, because he continues for him. "Soundwave was the only one Megatron really trusted. As much as he trusted anyone, anyway. I'm not sure he ever really stopped – sometimes, Soundwave would be able to talk him down when nothing else worked. He couldn't do that too often, or Megatron would become suspicious of him too. And he had a family to protect."

"Cassettes: first priority," Soundwave says. His monotone voice doesn't betray a lot of emotion, but it's all there in his frame. "Megatron's attentions: tolerated, ensured cassettes' safety."

"Until they didn't," Thundercracker inserts softly.

"Affirmative." Soundwave's sigh is almost inaudible. "Megatron: dissatisfied with Buzzsaw's performance. Buzzsaw: still young at the time."

"I remember when it happened," Thundercracker takes over. "Buzzsaw had been dispatched to spy on the Autobots. Usually it would have been Laserbeak's task, but she'd taken a hit a few days before and needed maintenance, so he had to go instead. And he didn't get the information Megatron needed."

"Megatron: shot at Buzzsaw." Soundwave sounds almost dejected. "Buzzsaw: only barely survived."

"After that, the abuse began for Soundwave too." Thundercracker's heavy tone shows all the emotions Soundwave won't show. "Beatings. Rapes. Less violent than his behavior towards Starscream, but he needed Soundwave functional, not getting repaired."

"Soundwave: got away easy."

"Megatron was a fool," Thundercracker says sharply. His fingers are tight around Soundwave's. "He had a faithful, competent officer, and he threw all that loyalty away." His voice softens until it's almost a croon. "He never should have treated you like that."

"He never should have treated _anyone_ like that," I say emphatically. "There's no excuse for him. Good leadership is about building your subordinates up, not – what he was doing."

"I'm glad he's dead." Thundercracker's rubbing Soundwave's back now, and Soundwave's visor is dim. I bet this took a lot out of him. "I'm upset that Star had to do it, and that he's suffering for it now, but I am glad Megatron's gone. He lost his way a long time ago."

I decide to give Soundwave a way out. Also, he might be able to offer some insights I haven't thought of. "Concerning Starscream. I may have an idea, something we can try to help him."

"I'm willing to authorize anything that won't make things worse." Thundercracker sighs. "It hurts, seeing him like this."

I can understand that. Starscream must have been magnificent, once. "I know Ratchet already tried something similar to this once, but I've been wondering." Briefly, I explain what I have in mind, how I'm wondering if using the trine bond alongside of extra defragmentation over hardline might help.

Thundercracker sounds hesitant, but not skeptical. "It's worth a try. I've been wondering…" He frowns minutely. "We're overdue for renewing the bond. It's starting to be a strain on all our systems. We've merged a few times since it happened, and it's never helped, but maybe…" He focuses on me. "I'd have to talk it over with Sky first. And I'd like to get Ratchet's opinion – it's not that I don't trust you, but this is his realm as well, not just yours. But I'm wondering if it could work if you did this during a merge."

That sounds risky. In my – granted, limited – experience with merging, it's an intensely passionate event. Nobody's lying still and focused on their minds.

Some of my skepticism must have shown on my face. Thundercracker takes pity on me. "Trine merges are different. We can merge for passion same as everyone, but it's more of a reaffirming merge normally. It's comforting."

"Starscream: fleeing from reality," Soundwave says. "Merge: more honest. Maybe more brutal. Suggestion?"

I nod. "Please."

"Trinemerge: advantageous. Defragmentation assistance during merge: possible. Possibility: better immediately after merge. Suggestion: Ratchet handles. Also: suggests Soundwave present."

"To stop him from retreating back into his mind?" Thundercracker sounds curious, which gives me hope. At least he hasn't shot the idea down altogether.

"Affirmative." Soundwave's mask retracts, and he gives me a brief smile before it closes again. "Suggestion: three-pronged attack. Spark, mind, code."

I think he showed me his smile so I'd know he was being encouraging. Interesting.

Also, I like maskless Soundwave a heck of a lot more than masked Soundwave.

"So you think it can work, then?" Now Thundercracker sounds hopeful, which is a bit scary. This could very easily not work.

Soundwave seems to think so as well. "Possibility: exists."

Thundercracker nods, seemingly making up his mind. "Then I'll talk to Sky. Cynosura, will you talk to Ratchet?"

"I will." I stand, indicating that it's time they left. My words to Soundwave aside, him being here is hard for me. I need a break. "I'll comm you when I know more."

Soundwave stands slowly, looking at me. Or it feels like he is, under that visor. And if my plating crawls any more now, I'm going to have to throw them out. I need him to _leave_.

"Time: appreciated," he says finally.

I just nod.

Thundercracker takes Soundwave's hand again, and then they're gone.

As soon as I hear the front door close, I drop back into my chair. Hard. And if I sigh loud enough that the weaver across the street heard, well, I've earned it.

Smokescreen appears in my doorway. "You okay?"

I wave a hand in the air. "Fine. Tall, dark and eerie still gives me the creeps, that's all."

"I kind of listened, at first," he admits. "The door was open, so it wasn't really intentional. I'm glad he finally had the decency to apologize for what he did to you." He scowls in the direction Soundwave and Thundercracker just left. "I know for a fact you're not the only one who's still mad at him."

I smile slightly at that. "No wonder you guys were at war for millions of years, if you carry grudges for vorns like this. Let it be, Smokescreen. We all need to move forward."

"If you say so." He looks at me appraisingly. "You look like slag. Need the rest of the day off?"

That sounds like heaven. But Smokescreen's still fairly new at this. "I'd love to. Can you manage?"

That brings out a smirk. Sometimes, he reminds me a lot of Sideswipe. "You don't have any appointments scheduled. I think I can handle it."

"Okay. Thanks." Going home now would be amazing. I hope my mechs are off-shift.

Maybe I'll stop by that café, pick up some goodies to share. It's a candy kind of day.

* * *

The best part about having two mate- _lovers_ is to curl up between them. First Aid loves being the big spoon, pulling me close to his frame, entangling his feet with mine, one arm resting heavy around my middle. My shoulder kibble makes it a bit awkward, but it didn't take him long to learn how to navigate around it, and now I get to push back against him and have my neck kissed and nibbled. It's amazing.

Groove, on the other hand, loves lying in front of me. We're forehead to forehead, chest to chest, his legs tangled with mine and First Aid's and his hand teasing over my hip.

All in all, it leaves me barely any room to vent, let alone move. And I love it.

"Hey," I murmur, tracing his lower lip. "What does it feel like when you merge with your brothers? Is it different?"

"Very different," Groove replies. The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Is this a professional question?" First Aid's hand moves on my stomach.

"Kind of," I admit. I hadn't really planned to talk about it, but I need more information, and my Protectobots probably know more than me about this. "I talked to Thundercracker, and he said trinemerges were comforting. I just wondered if gestalt merges were the same."

"Probably." First Aid kisses my neck. "We merge to be close to one another. We love each other, but the merges are usually platonic. At least now."

"Different when we were newbuilds," Groove says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Why do you want to know, love?"

"I'm working on a treatment for Starscream," I admit. They're not privy to know any of this, especially not Groove, but it's not like it's a secret that I'm working with Starscream anyway. And they won't tell anyone. "It involves using the trine bond."

"And you wonder how that bond works," First Aid concludes for me. He's good at getting at where I'm going. "Want to see for yourself?"

"How?" Groove raises his head a bit, looks at him curiously. "Merge?"

"Platonic merge," First Aid confirms. "That should let her feel them for a little while."

"Just one of us, then? So it's not too overwhelming?"

Wordlessly, I open the panel in my side and pull Groove's hand to it. I love having him in my head, platonic or no.

Groove grins. "Aid, switch places with me."

I watch in faint bemusement as they scramble around me, until Groove's at my back and First Aid's in front of me and smiling. It would have been easier to ask me to turn around.

… but then I'd be lying on my side panel, which would keep me from connecting to Groove. And I do want to be connected to Groove.

"Ready, love?"

I smile at First Aid. "Teach me." My chest plates slide apart.

I fall into First Aid like I have since I gained a spark. Unlike our usual fervor and want, there's a gentle welcome and warmth embracing me. I faintly feel the click of Groove connecting to me, and then they're both in me – one in my head, one in my spark.

It's perfect. I'm cradled between them, safe and comfortable, and I get what Thundercracker meant now. I'm not going to be able to keep this merge up forever – eventually, the spark energies will peak and I'll overload – but there's not rush towards it, no need. Just comfort.

 _There you are._ First Aid isn't speaking, I can't really hear him. I feel his words in my core. _This is a platonic merge. I contacted my brothers, they're all focused on the bond right now. Can you feel them?_

I delve deeper into the merge, trying to focus on finding parts that aren't First Aid. It doesn't take me too long to find the first one, and I'm not too surprised that the first one is Groove. He's a gentle, loving touch, warm and teasing, and I can feel him laughing in my head.

It takes me a little longer to find the next. I'm drawn to this bright, curious presence, dependable and clever and knowing, and Streetwise presses back against my faint attention.

 _Can they hear me?_ I wonder.

 _Not likely. You're not bonded. But they can definitely feel you. Streets says you feel like this gentle sweetness, but if he pushes there's steel underneath. I think that sounds about right, don't you?_

In my head, Groove is still chortling. Slagger.

Streetwise steps aside, though I'm still aware he's there, a thread of inquisitive/bright/intelligent through First Aid's spark. Behind him, I'm met with a wall of solid strength, projecting warmth and safety, and I know I've found Hot Spot. Immediately after, there's this touch of fierce determination and loyalty that is obviously Blades.

I can feel every Protectobot in First Aid's spark. That is so weird.

First Aid chuckles. _I heard that._

 _Of course you did. I'm in your soul._

 _Yes, you are._ Suddenly the three other Protectobots are gone, and Groove's crowding closer in every way he can. _And I – we – want you here all the time._

The words would have floored me, if I'd been upright. As it is, I'm melting against both of them _. I want that too. So bad. You have no idea. But – right now, there's so much going on._

 **We know. And we'll wait** , Groove promises in my head, his words over the hardline connection feeling faintly different than First Aid's in my spark. **Just know we want you like that, Belle. We want you to be ours.**

It's as if someone's thrown a switch. Everything suddenly heats up, and I arch at the first wave of charge to spark and frame. My hands are tight on Groove's, I'm moaning against First Aid's shoulder, and I'm so glad his brothers really do seem to have pulled away a bit to give us privacy.

I never last long between my Protectobots.

Later, when we're all cooling and sated and back in our own frames, I curl up against First Aid's chest. Groove is at my back, and I know I'll be turned around in a moment so they can snuggle me the way they want to.

"I really want to," I whisper. "I've been thinking about it."

First Aid kisses my forehead. "There's no rush. You've got enough on your plate right now, I think. And we're not going anywhere."

"Damn straight." Groove's arms tighten possessively around me. "Right here when you want us, Isobel."

"Then just don't move," I mumble, already half in recharge. Groove chuckles at me.

I have just enough processing power left over to think that this really could work for Starscream before I zonk out completely.


	13. Star

I lean back against Skyfire's bulkhead, half an optic on Soundwave. Even with all his recent good behavior, even with the apology and contrition, I don't trust him.

Which is why Laserbeak's in my lap, telling me everything about her and Eject's latest ventures. She doesn't really have clearance for this, so she won't be present for the procedure, but it's worth having her here just to keep me calm during the flight. She's such a sweetheart. And it's nice to be able to ignore Soundwave. I spend the time half listening to Laserbeak's chatter, half thinking ahead to what we're about to do.

This has the potential to go so horribly wrong.

Of course I'm hoping it won't. But even Ratchet said he'd never worked with a case as complex as Starscream's before. So we really don't know what will work. We've just found a pitload of stuff that doesn't work much at all.

Hopefully combining some of those unsuccessful procedures will lead to one procedure that actually does some good.

::Okay, you three. We're almost there. Please make ready for landing.::

At Skyfire's words, I reluctantly let Laserbeak go. I'd have loved to hold onto her for a few minutes longer, but she's safer docked while we're landing. Not that I think anything will happen. We're at peace, the weather's nice, Skyfire's done this dozens of times. I still figure it's like driving on Earth - you know you'll most likely be safe, but you still put on your seatbelt. So I let my tiniest friend go and fasten the crash harness.

Skyfire flies smoothly, though, and I barely notice as we touch down. He slows down gently, taxing to a stop, and I'm out of my seat and down the ramp almost before it's all the way open.

Thundercracker and Skywarp are already inside, waiting for us. So is Ratchet. And I'm very impatient to get inside and have someone other than Soundwave for company.

I'm more than a little surprised when Skyfire transforms behind me. He towers over me, even in this form. I'm fairly sure he's taller than even Ultra Magnus, and that includes those stacks on his shoulders. Skyfire's the biggest mech I've ever seen, barring the gestalts.

"I thought I'd come along," he says when he notices my look. "I… wanted to watch."

I frown. "I don't mind, but do you have clearance for that?"

"Skyfire: permitted," Soundwave says in that eerie voice of his. "Access: granted."

I'm not going to argue. For all I know, this could help. And it gives me a massive shield to hide behind if Soundwave turns creepy.

Well. Creepier.

Ratchet's in the control room, hanging over Cliffjumper's shoulder and staring at something on one screen. The large window's transparent today, and I can see Thundercracker and Skywarp in there. Starscream too, pacing back and forth like a caged beast. As usual.

"We okay to proceed?" I say by way of greeting. "He seems agitated."

"When isn't he?" Ratchet says. He sounds annoyed, so I bet he's nervous.

"He's actually doing pretty good," Cliffjumper says calmly. "This is relaxed, for him. You have to understand, he's stressed out of his plating almost all the time now. At least Thunder and Sky have been able to keep him in the present."

That was part of the plan. Thundercracker and Skywarp have been here since last night, talking to Starscream, trying to keep his mind awake and there with them. Trying to prepare him as much as possible for what we're doing. It's hard, because Starscream's not able to give consent to anything right now, and most of the time he's not lucid enough to know what's being asked of him. It's usually a struggle to get him to accept anyone but his trine mates, Hook or any of the other seekers in there with him. Bringing in Soundwave, bringing in Ratchet, is going to be a real stretch.

"We're as good as we're going to get," Ratchet says finally. "Thundercracker says they're going to remind him what'll happen after they merge, and then we'll just have to hope for the best." He turns to us, and blinks up at Skyfire. "Huh. Okay, not part of the plan, but you can actually help. Soundwave will fill you in."

Inside Starscream's room, Skywarp's taken his hand and coaxed him down to sit between them. There's hugging, and affectionate touches, and then Thundercracker's cockpit glass splits up and slides aside.

"Okay, that's our cue," Ratchet says tersely. "Come on."

We walk in silence as Acid Storm takes us inside. It's a tense quiet, almost thick enough to cut, and I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one whose spark seems to be spinning twice as fast.

Acid Storm hesitates before unlocking the final door. "Good luck," he whispers.

We don't go through right away. Ratchet's waiting for something – he's frowning, head cocked like he's listening. I turn up the gain on my audials, but I can't really hear anything, so it has to be on comms.

A few tense minutes later, Ratchet nods and leads us inside. Then he stops us again for a moment, and I realize we're waiting for the seekers on the couch to close up their chests again.

Starscream looks completely out of it.

"Okay," Thundercracker says softly. "They're here, Star. Are you ready?"

"If I must be," Starscream mumbles. He seems half in recharge. "You'll be here, right? Don't trust them."

Next to me, Skyfire winces.

"We'll be right here, Star," Skywarp promises, crowding close. "And you can feel us too, right?"

"Yeah," Starscream sighs, snuggling back. "Feels right."

Skywarp's smile is blinding.

Ratchet moves swiftly, coming to a stop behind the couch. "Hello, Starscream. I'll just be connecting to this port so I can sort through your coding tangles, okay?"

Starscream stiffens, and for a moment I worry we'll get nowhere today. But then he relaxes into Skywarp's arms. The cover slips away, revealing the port on the side of his neck.

That's my cue. I slide into place next to Ratchet, connecting next to him.

Connecting directly to Starscream. Jazz would have my hide if he knew. But Ratchet upgraded my firewalls before we came here, so I should be safe. Emphasis on 'should'.

Ratchet's guiding me through Starscream's firewalls, until we're where we need to be. Instead of ribbons in the dark, like with Prowl and Sunstreaker, Starscream's coding looks like what it is – long, long lines of code. I can't make heads or tails of it. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to see which of my statements causes Starscream to react, so Ratchet can see where the issues are.

It's insane, what we're trying to do here.

Soundwave settles on the couch next to Thundercracker. He nods up at me.

I guess we're doing this.

"Starscream." I take care to keep my voice soft and even, almost as if I'm doing hypnotherapy. The differences really aren't that many. "Do you know where you are?"

"Cybertron," he mumbles, still cradled against Skywarp's chest. "I'm on Cybertron."

"That's right. And can you tell me how long you've been here?"

I'm expecting some hesitation here, and I'm not surprised when Starscream can't give me a set reply. He just shakes his head.

"Can you remember where you were before you came back to Cybertron?"

Starscream tenses again, and Thundercracker rubs his wing. "Stay with us, Star," he murmurs. In Starscream's mind, I can see Ratchet jumping into action.

"Earth," Starscream forces out finally. "America."

"That's right. Now I'm going to ask you some difficult questions." I wait until Thundercracker nods at me again, indicating that Starscream's relaxed. "You served Megatron on Earth. Were you content with that?"

Starscream's stiffening is a full-frame thing this time, and Ratchet's jaw tenses.

"Megatron is an idiot," Starscream huffs, and I can tell that we've lost him a little. "He can't do anything right."

"Star," Thundercracker murmurs. "Star, he's not in charge anymore. He's gone."

::He's fleeing,:: Soundwave comms. Thundercracker leans closer to a trembling Starscream and whispers to him. I can't make out the words, but I catch the tone. He sounds anxious.

::Frag,:: Ratchet curses. ::Skyfire, lend me some processor space. You too, Isobel. It's a fragging mess in here.::

I allow him into my head, and wait for Starscream to calm back down a bit. It seems like it takes forever. Thundercracker keeps murmuring, hands moving in slow circles on Starscream's wings. I can see Soundwave's cable connected to Thundercracker's neck port, and realize he's monitoring their conversation.

::Now,:: he comms me suddenly.

"Starscream," I begin again. "Do you remember what happened on Earth?" I leave it vague on purpose, hoping it'll be less traumatizing that way.

It doesn't work.

Starscream keens, and Ratchet's cursing continuously in my head, tweaking code string after code string.

::We're losing him,:: Soundwave comms. He sounds strained. ::Skyfire.::

"Starscream," Skyfire begins, leaning forward and putting a hand on Starscream's leg. "Starscream, can you hear me?"

Starscream stills. "Skyfire?" He sounds so small and young suddenly.

"Yeah, it's me, Star." Skyfire smiles faintly. "Listen. I know this is hard. I know it hurts. But we need you to work with us here."

"I don't want to," Starscream whimpers, and my spark just about shatters.

"I know," Skyfire sooths. "I know, soarling. Please just try. We're right here with you."

::Acid Storm, bring your trine in here,:: Ratchet comms. ::I need your processors.::

I focus on what he's doing for a moment, and flinch. I don't know coding from Greek, but even I can tell that there's something wrong there.

"Don't you want to work directly with Skyfire again?" Skywarp pleads. "Not just send your stuff out, not just collaborate over distance like you did during the war, but actually share a lab?"

They did that during the war?

… no one tells me anything around here.

"Don't you want to go flying again, Star?" Thundercracker murmurs. "Whenever you want, wherever you want? We can go flying like we used to. You can lead the wing again."

"Just try for us," Skyfire says, taking Starscream's hand. "Just try." Behind him, the Rainmaker trine hurries past to get to where Ratchet is standing.

Starscream whimpers again, and Soundwave turns to me, and I steel myself to do something I really don't want to do.

I'm going to have to break the rest of his mind if we're going to have any hope of putting him back together.

"Starscream," I start, taking care that none of the horror, the shame, the frustration I feel leak out in my voice or over the hardline connection. "Do you remember how Megatron died?"

Starscream howls. And it's all in his head, in his spark – his frame is frozen, every cable tensed to the max.

In his mind, Ratchet is cutting warped coding to shreds and reassembling it faster than I can follow.

"Shh, Star," Skyfire croons. "Shh, bravespark, we're here with you."

The screaming seems to go on forever. I can feel Ratchet pulling on my mind, feel more than see Soundwave cutting off Starscream's every mental escape attempt. Someone connects to the port on the side of my neck, and I don't even know who it is.

It feels like it takes vorn. Millennia of darkness and screaming and endless terror, enough time for planets to be born and settle and die in implosions, for stars to turn into black holes and devour everything in their proximity.

Ten minutes later, when the screaming finally ends and Starscream slumps forward, it's all I can do to stay on my feet.

"Don't disconnect yet," Ratchet says tersely. "I can't let this code string loose or it'll corrupt everything again. If anyone can spare some processing power, I need it right now."

It takes me a moment to realize the room is full of mecha. Not just the Rainmaker trine – that's Astrotrain, lurking in the back, moving forward when Ratchet asks. The Coneheads, already connected. Blast Off, his cable connected to my neck, strong arms keeping me upright. Even Bluestreak and Bumblebee, somewhere in the chaos of cables.

In the middle of it all, Starscream lies unconscious over his trine mates' laps.

It takes another twenty minutes before Ratchet finally exhales. I can see Starscream's coding settling into something that at least looks more normal. And it took Ratchet all of his concentration plus the processing power of at least ten other mechs to get him there.

Ratchet disconnects with trembling fingers. "I think we've got the worst of it. There was one snarl that impacted everything else. He's still got a lot of issues, but he should be able to work with us now." He lifts his head – Primus, he's weak as a day-old kitten – and looks at Hook, standing near the wall, on guard in case something went wrong. "Monitor him for at least a day. Preferably via hardline. We need to see how his systems react. If he relapses, drop him into medical stasis immediately and comm me and Prowl."

Skyfire stands on shaky legs and bends, picking up Starscream as if he weighs nothing at all. "I'll take him to berth."

"Come on, love," Bluestreak says softly, guiding Skywarp to his feet. "You're staying with him tonight. Primus, I've never seen anything like this."

Thundercracker looks up at Ratchet. "Did it work? Will he be alright?"

Ratchet's smile is weary, but triumphant. "I have more hope for him right now than I've had at any moment since the war ended. But we need to wait and see. He has a lot of work to do still."

It's as if someone's flipped a switch and turned off all the tension in the room. And I notice I'm not the only one close to collapsing.

Hook appraises us sternly. His gaze is locked on Ratchet. "Good. Then consider yourself relieved of duty."

Ratchet snorts. "Not that simple, Constructicon. That's still my patient in there."

"Doesn't matter," Hook says firmly. "You made me part of your staff. I'm relieving you of duty. Slaggit, Ratchet, you're barely conscious. And that goes for you too, brat." He looks at me. "Enough for now."

It's a relief to have someone take control.

"Who's flight-worthy?" Hook asks, looking around.

"I am," Astrotrain replies. "I came in late."

"I am functional as well," Blast Off replies. "Tired, but functional."

Hook nods. "None of the rest of you are flying today. Rainmakers, go to your quarters here. Refuel, and recharge until you no longer need it. Astrotrain, take Bumblebee and the Coneheads with you, and Bluestreak if he wants to go. Thundercracker, go join Starscream and Skywarp. He'll need both of you for a few days."

"I'm staying," Skyfire says as he comes back from the berth room. "There's a room I can use out in the guard compound."

"There is," Hook confirms. "Go. Same orders for you. Blast Off, take Ratchet and Cynosura." He looks sharply at the both of us, quelling Ratchet's protests before he's even had the chance to make them. "I have no doubt you'll both be back here tomorrow. Or as soon as you wake up, anyway. But you're no good to anyone until you've recharged enough for your processors to defrag properly. No, I'm not budging on this." He leans forward slightly, looming over Ratchet. "Don't make me comm your mate."

The threat seems to be effective, because Ratchet subsides.

"Soundwave, go with them," Hook continues, dismissing us for the moment. "I saw what you did. You need recharge as well. I have replacement guards coming in to help Cliffjumper for the next couple of days. Everything's taken care of."

In groups of twos and threes, mecha start leaving the room. Bumblebee leaning heavily on Ramjet, which would look comical if they weren't both so obviously exhausted. Astrotrain shepherding Thrust and Dirge out the door. Skyfire carrying Thundercracker into the berth room, and coming back a few moments later supporting Bluestreak.

I try to move. My legs collapse under me.

"Shh, child," someone murmurs, and I'm swept up against a warm chest. "Easy, braveling. You did so well. Don't cry. This will help."

I hadn't even realized I was crying until Blast Off pointed it out.

"I had to break his mind," I whisper. "I had to break him. I'm not supposed to break them."

"Fractures that heal wrong need to be rebroken," Ratchet says heavily. "You did well, sparklet."

"Shh," Blast Off croons. "Easy, both of you. That was a feat the likes of which I've never seen, and Starscream will be all the better for it. Let's get you home."

I barely notice being carried outside. It's all glimpses, moments. I do remember seeing Cliffjumper, optics all but glued to the screen that displays Starscream in deep recharge. Astrotrain transforming, encouraging Bumblebee to shuffle up his ramp. The Aerialbots, landing one after the other, Silverbolt opening his hold to let out Reflector and Arcee. Blast Off handing me off to a now bipedal Silverbolt, who cradles me close as Blast Off transforms. The harness biting into my plating. Watching Ratchet grouse at Arcee as she fastens his harness as well. Soundwave almost collapsing into the seat.

Then it's all black. The next thing I notice is warm arms picking me up. I get a glimpse of light blue as I'm cradled, carried up a flight of stairs. Hear Hot Spot's voice, then Groove's. Then First Aid's, and someone's plug connects to my diagnostic port.

"She's just exhausted. This took a lot out of her."

"I'll stay with her," Groove promises. "And I'll tell you if there's trouble."

Then the berth, warm and comfortable, an energon cube pressed to my mouth for me to drink down. Then darkness.

When I wake up again, it's not Groove watching me. It's First Aid, and his visor brightens when he sees me blinking at him.

"You're awake, love. Let me get you some energon, okay? You're probably running on empty."

I am, at that, though I hadn't noticed. It takes a little while for reality to sink in. I feel disconnected, somehow, like I've slept too much and too little – that strange feeling you get when you were so exhausted that you end up sleeping until well into the day, and you're still tired when you get up.

According to my chronometer, I've been in recharge for over a day.

I'm still trying to process that when First Aid comes back with two cubes. He helps me sit before handing me the first one. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "How on Earth did I sleep that long?"

"You were exhausted," he replies, tone gentle. "What you did took a lot out of you. I'd also suspect you needed a deep defrag after that."

His words bring it all crashing back to me. Ratchet's desperate need for more processing power to redo the coding that was destroying Starscream. Thundercracker and Skywarp both pleading with him to stay. Starscream's desperate crying.

"Why did you let me sleep this long?" I can hear the desperation in my voice as I push the cube back at First Aid, scrambling to get off the berth. "I need to go see Star, I need to check on him and the others, I need to-"

"Shh, love," First Aid says, and even though his hands are gentle there's no escaping the hold he has on me as he pushes me back onto the soft berth surface. "Hook's been updating me. Starscream's still in recharge, defragging, and Thundercracker and Skywarp are there with him. Hook's been checking him up, says he's physically fine. Jazz has been out there too, and he says the coding's holding stable. There's nothing you can do for him right now, love."

I blink against the pressure behind my optics. "I have to check him. I have to make it right."

First Aid's expression softens, and he climbs onto the berth to lie down next to me. "Hook told me what you did. I'm so impressed and proud of you, love."

" _Proud_ of me?" Now my voice is trembling too. "How can you be proud of me? _I broke his mind!_ "

"You did what had to be done, Isobel. Hook said Starscream's coding had warped to the point where his mind couldn't have healed on its own. He needed what you did for him."

I burrow in against his chest, take comfort in the familiar arms around me. "I never want to do that again."

"I hope you'll never have to."

First Aid is warm, and comforting, and familiar, and I want to just relax against him and forget everything. But I can't. "The clinic?"

"Smokescreen's handling it. He said something about giving one of the talks you've been working on together. All your sessions have been moved to next week."

"I should see the Stunticons…"

First Aid squeezes me a little tighter. "I'm not your primary medic. I can't be, since we're together. Ratchet is still recharging – he was even more exhausted than you. But Hook has the authority to step in, and I've asked him to place both of you on medical leave for the rest of the week." He kisses my forehead. "None of you need to be up on your pedes just yet. Everything will keep."

I mull over that for a while. No appointments for the next few days, no plans, nothing to do. "Do I have to stay in berth?"

He chuckles. "Not unless you want to. You're not on berth rest, you can do what you want. But you should relax."

"Driving practice?" I ask, almost desperately. "Walk in the park? Pick out paints with Sunstreaker? Go visit… someone who's off duty?"

"You're adorable when you're all pouty like this." First Aid nuzzles my helm.

"I am not pouty, I am stressed out of my mind and trying to find out how to distract myself," I argue, more sharply than I'd intended.

"I know. I'm sorry." First Aid's lips are soft on my cheek. "I know you're worried. And it's because you're this stressed that we want you to rest for a few days." He pauses, and I'm willing him to take in how much I need to not pretend that I'm fine, that nothing happened. _Don't coddle me, First Aid, please._ "Will it help if we called Hook together? You can hear how they're doing?"

"Yeah." _Thank you, First Aid._ "Yeah, that would help."

::I don't know what to tell you that First Aid haven't already told you.:: Hook sounds slightly exasperated. ::But I had Ratchet on the comms not half an hour ago, so I guess I see where you got it from.::

That makes me smile. Figures Ratchet's just as bad as I am.

::So I'm going to tell you what I told him,:: Hook continues. ::Starscream's stable in every meaning of the word. He's been awake a few times, just long enough to snuggle up against Thundercracker and Skywarp and have some energon before going back to recharge. I have him on an energon drip and a coolant drip, just in case, but he. Is. Stable.::

::His coding?:: First Aid says, and I can tell that he's prompting instead of asking.

::His coding's stabilizing too,:: Hook replies. ::Soundwave's been here – which is why he's now on berth rest, even if I have to get Bonecrusher to sit on him - and he confirmed that the patches and reroutes Ratchet set up are holding. Starscream's coding is healing itself as we speak.::

::When do you think he'll wake?:: I need to know when I need to make space in my calendar again.

::Hard to say. When he's recharged enough.:: Hook doesn't sound too worried. ::He might try to disconnect from the world again when he wakes up, I can't say he won't, even with the functional coding patches. But the shortcuts that let his processor instantly delete any recollection or thought thread that led back to what happened to Megatron are gone, Ratchet saw to that. So now it'll be more like the traditional therapy I'd imagine you're familiar with, Cynosura.::

::I hope so. I want to actually help him, not hurt him.::

::Sometimes you've got to do the one to do the other.:: Hook sounds merciless. ::And on that note, if I see you out here any earlier than the beginning of next week, you'll be on berth rest too, and I'll tell Long Haul to sit on you until I decide you're okay to move, is that clear?::

::Thank you, Hook,:: First Aid says, and he's laughing at me, the slagger.

::Thank you,:: I echo, for different reasons but somewhat more heartfelt. ::I appreciate the update.::

::You're both welcome. Now let me be, I have a patient to check up on.::

I giggle. All medics are apparently coded to be grouchy in defense of their patients.

Well, all but one. I smile up at First Aid. "I thought of something else you can do to distract me?"

First Aid smirks. "Of course, my love. It'll be my pleasure."


	14. Speeding up

_A/N:_ Sorry this chapter is so late in the month. I've been busy with NaNoWriMo, and haven't had the time to edit. But, good news: this story has now gained 50,000 words, and in another four chapters or so I think it'll be finished! So you'll definitely see the end of this story before summer :)

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Three days, and I'm still mentally drained. At first I thought it was weird because I didn't really do much, but as First Aid explained, Ratchet drew on my processor pretty heavily and for a fairly long time. It'll take me time to bounce back from that._

 _A few good things came out of it. I spent an afternoon with Blaster and Arcee, just hanging out. It was bliss – no requirements, no demands on my time, no worries, just me and my friends hanging out. And then yesterday Blast Off took Bluestreak, Bumblebee and me flying. It was supposed to be a recon mission, covering for Skywarp, but he did a few extra rounds just to show me._

 _Cybertron from above is beautiful. It's not the brilliant sapphire gem that Earth is, but it's got this deep, bright light at its core, bounced off sharp angles and steep inclines and gleaming into the dark like a lantern. It's a stunning sight._

 _This means that I've seen both my home planets from space. Now that's a wild thought._

 _At least with all this, I haven't been able to worry about that damn Alliance much. There's still plenty to worry about, I'm sure, but nobody tells me anything right now. And I'm sure as pit not going to try walking up there and asking what's going on. I'm fairly certain I'd be sent home if I tried._

 _It's not like Ultra Magnus and Prowl can't handle it. I bet they have no issues at all covering for Soundwave's and Ratchet's absence. It's probably all bureaucracy anyway. And Ratchet is about as fond of that as I am._

 _Besides, the facts of the matter probably haven't changed. Optimus will be charged. Starscream will be charged. Soundwave may be charged. And then it's up to Earth to judge. Or the International Criminal Court, anyway, if it still exists. That would simplify things._

 _And then all I can do is hope that we can convince them that Optimus was acting in defense of himself and those around him, and that Soundwave and Starscream were both under extreme duress. And I won't worry about how we're going to do that right now. That's for someone who's on duty to think about for a while longer._

 _I'm going to enjoy a few more days of forced relaxation._

* * *

"Hold still," Sunstreaker says, and I'm reminded – again – of the last time we did this. Granted, then he was tickling skin and not plating, but holding still hasn't gotten any easier.

"I would if you stopped tickling me," I force out. "Are you done with those soon?"

"Soon. Would be sooner if you held your head still."

"You can't blame her," Sideswipe defends me. "I haven't met anyone with finials like hers where they aren't one of the most sensitive parts of the frame." He leers at me. "I bet those mechs of yours can overload you just by sucking on them, can't they?"

Sideswipe hasn't gotten any less crude, either. "None of your business."

"There." Sunstreaker finally pulls away from my finials, and I fight the temptation to rub them to disperse the tickly feeling. I doubt he'd appreciate it if I ruined all the fine linework he just did.

"Is that it? Or is there more?"

He smiles at me, a Sunstreaker-expression where just the corner of the mouth lifts. "You wish that was it. You're not perfect yet."

Sunstreaker has the highest standards of anyone I've ever encountered. I'm going to be here a while.

"Patience, Isobel. You want to look your best for baby Blue's bonding ceremony, don't you?" Sideswipe leans in to examine my finials.

"Of course I do." I look at him from the corner of my optic – I can feel tiny brushstrokes on the back of my helm, which means Sunstreaker would probably be really mad if I moved now. "Are you going to the ceremony?"

It's a bit of a push. Sunstreaker's doing so much better, but he's not been around many people, and he still freaks out a lot when he's outside. I know Prowl's been out here one more time to help him defrag, but old habits never die easily, and Sunstreaker's had a vorn to get stuck in his ways.

"We were invited," Sideswipe replies, glancing at his brother. "Haven't decided if we're going yet."

As I suspected.

Maybe Sunstreaker needs to be pushed some more.

"Hey, when this paint is dry," I begin, hoping that this might be something that can lure them out. I know Bluestreak would love having them at the ceremony, and I'm perfectly willing to scheme a bit to get them there. "Can you show me that track you use? I've been wanting to test how fast I can go."

Sunstreaker spins around to stand in front of me, staring at me with wide, incredulous optics. "Brand new paintjob, and the first thing you want to do is scratch it up by going _racing?_ "

I deliberately widen my own optics. "Racing will scratch it up?"

"Only if you crash," Sideswipe chuckles.

"Which you will," Sunstreaker says firmly, pointing at me with the paintbrush. "You've never gone fast before. Wait with the racing until after the ceremony."

I sigh, adding a pout for good measure. "Then how will I get better at driving?"

Sunstreaker shrugs. "Stick to the town roads. And go slow."

"Killjoy." I pout some more, then smile at him. "Will you at least take me there after the ceremony?" If we have time before leaving for Earth, that is. The twins don't know about that yet.

"Fine," Sunstreaker sighs. "Now hold still."

"Yes, o talented Sunstreaker." I roll my optics, and Sideswipe laughs at me.

Sunstreaker prods my nose with the paintbrush handle. "Hold still, I said."

I shut up and resign myself to my fate.

It takes an age and a half before I'm finally dry and buffed to a proper shine and my plating passes Sunstreaker's very thorough inspection. He's got me in front of the full-length mirror – because of course he has one, even in this cave – and I can't look away from myself.

I look amazing.

He hasn't really made any big changes. The edges are finer. The green a slightly different shade. The white is crisper, like snow instead of flour. There are tiny lines scrolling up my finials and shoulder blades, and gold edging along my seams. It's breathtaking.

"Are you sure I can go out like this? What if I scratch it?" It was a joke earlier, but I really can't bear the thought of ruining this. I'm a work of art.

"The finish has cured. You're fine for normal use." Sunstreaker runs a hand across my glossy arm. "And if something happens, I'll retouch it for you."

"Thank you, Sunstreaker." I turn a bit, so I can see my back. "This is exquisite."

"Of course it is." He's smiling, though, and I can't help but marvel at how much he's improved. Gone is the hesitant, white-opticked, terrified mech who was cowering in the corner when I was first here. This Sunstreaker is snarky and confident and skillful and calm, at least in here.

This isn't a professional session. Well, not on my part. But I still think Sunstreaker's ready to be challenged a bit more.

"I should get back to town," I say finally. "Want to escort me part of the way? Make sure I don't crash and scratch my new colors?"

Sunstreaker stares at me for a moment. I get the feeling he knows what I'm doing, and he's considering. Which is massive progress.

"Part of the way," he concedes finally. Behind him, Sideswipe gives me a wild grin and two thumbs up, and apparently something is broadcast over their bond because Sunstreaker turns his head and growls at his brother.

"Great! Come on then." I take care to keep my tone light, not acknowledging how massive this is to Sunstreaker. "Let's go before it gets dark. Then I'll definitely crash."

Sideswipe leads the way through the tight passage, transforming with a whoop as soon as he's up on the road. His engine revs loudly as he rocks on his wheels. ::You two slowpokes coming?::

"Showoff," Sunstreaker grumbles, but I notice how flashy his transformation sequence is. Nothing like the slow, choppy motion I saw the first time I was out here.

Between them, my transformation's plain. At least I didn't fall over.

::Paint looks just as good in alt mode,:: Sideswipe sends. ::Ready to move?::

::Ready,:: I confirm, and then we're off.

Sideswipe is in front, Sunstreaker behind me, dodging and weaving around the obstacles. They're not built for uneven terrain, and this far out the roads are hardly flat and smooth, but they make it look effortless. Even at this relatively sedate pace, I have to concentrate to keep up.

It's peaceful, for a while. It reminds me of cruising around the base on Diego Garcia, for all that the surroundings are completely different. Sideswipe's red form is steady in front of me, hugging the road, and I can feel Sunstreaker behind me, engine running smoothly. We're driving in silence, just enjoying the moment, and I silently congratulate myself on managing to entice Sunstreaker outside while it's still daylight.

It lasts until the sound of other engines reaches us from up ahead. Sunstreaker slows down dramatically. Sideswipe follows almost instantly, forcing me to hit the brakes and make an abrupt turn to not hit him. I manage to stop just as Sunstreaker transforms, taking a step backward and looking around with wild optics.

 _Slag._ I transform as well, but I let Sideswipe approach him first. Only when Sideswipe's got a hand on his arm do I walk closer.

"Easy, Sunstreaker," I murmur. "No one here will harm you. You're safe."

Behind me, the engines – one big and heavy, one smaller – slow down and stop. There's the sound of transformation.

"Thought I made it clear you weren't to go around unescorted, sparklet?" The voice is gruff, but it's also almost cheerful, which is unusual. "These two barely count."

I relax instantly. Trust Ratchet to pick up on what's going on immediately, and not make a big deal of it.

"It's just Ratchet, Sunstreaker. You're fine. It's Ratchet and Optimus." It has to be Optimus, I'm fairly sure even if I haven't looked yet. For now, all my focus is on Sunstreaker. But there's no reason I know of that Ratchet would be driving with Ultra Magnus, and he and Motormaster are the only ones I know of to match the size that goes with that engine sound.

Sideswipe strikes a nonchalant pose and puts on a lazy grin. He's not fooling me. His hand is still tight on Sunstreaker's arm. "Hey, docbot. What're you two lovebirds doing way out here?"

"Oh, driving," Optimus replies lightly. "It's a good day for it."

Sunstreaker's venting easier, color bleeding back into his optics, and I finally dare to turn around. "I've never known you to go joyriding. Not that it's not a good idea."

Optimus winks at me. He _winks_ , and Ratchet looks more blustery than usual, and all my instincts are _screaming_ at me that something's going on.

"You see," Optimus continues, and now his grin widens to the point where even Sideswipe stills next to me. "I wanted to go driving before my t-cog gets shunted away."

What.

 _Oh._

"You're _kidding!_ " I'm not ashamed to say I'm squealing, but I am a bit surprised to suddenly find myself jumping up into Optimus' arms. He's just so damn big, I can't reach him to hug without jumping. " _CONGRATULATIONS!_ "

Optimus laughs, and it's free and excited and happy, a kind of laugh I've never heard from him before. "Thank you, sweetspark." He supports my weight easily, making no move to put me down, which is good. I'm not quite done with him yet.

He's adopted a Cybertronian alt-mode now, but there's still glass across his chest. This close, I can feel the thrum of his powerful spark underneath it. I may be imagining the second, bright pulse, but I know it's in there. "Hey, baby," I croon, staring at Optimus' torso as though I can see right through the thick plating to the sparks inside. "I'm so excited to meet you."

Behind me there's an almighty crash. Sunstreaker's resigned huff and Ratchet's creative cursing are indicators enough of what happened.

Optimus smiles at me. "I suppose that was a bit much for Sideswipe to find out."

"If this news is going to keep crashing your soldiers, I suggest you hold off on the plan to tell them all at once," Ratchet says crisply.

I turn as Optimus puts me down. Sideswipe's on the ground, arms and legs akimbo, optics dark. Ratchet's already connected to his arm, though, and Sunstreaker doesn't look worried, so it's probably fine. "Who else crashed?"

"Prowl," Ratchet replies distractedly. "And Red Alert. Not that we weren't expecting that, considering the timing."

That puts a damper on my excitement. For a moment, I'd forgotten that there is a spaceship hovering above Cybertron, ready to punish Optimus for the crimes of an entire race. I can't really blame Prowl or Red Alert for crashing, that factor considered.

"They're not wrong," I say quietly to Optimus. "They're not going to stop because of this."

"I know." Optimus' hand lands on my shoulder. "For what it's worth, the sparkling predates those issues. If we'd known what was going to happen, we might have held off. But we didn't. And I can't regret him, no matter what happens."

"What issues?"

Crap. Forgot about Sunstreaker. And I really didn't want to add to his problems just yet, he still jumps at shadows. Judging from his stern expression and flat tone, though, he won't take no for an answer.

Ratchet seems to figure that as well. "The Intergalactic Alliance," he replies bluntly, hands probing Sideswipe's helm. Maybe he hit it in the fall. "They're floating somewhere in high orbit, planning how they're going to get Optimus – and Starscream and Soundwave – blamed and convicted for the war."

"What," Sunstreaker says, and it's clear he does not approve. That's a Sunstreaker growl if ever I heard one.

"The Alliance wants to take us to court for the damage the war caused to other systems and planets," Optimus explains, a bit more patient than his mate. "We've convinced them to let us use an independent judge." He glances at Ratchet. "Hopefully the humans will be lenient."

"You're going to Earth," Sunstreaker says flatly. "To be tried for war crimes. By the humans. And you're doing it while _carrying_."

"That may be the weirdest set of sentences I've ever come online to." Sideswipe groans as he pushes himself up to a seated position. "Relax, Ratchet, I'm good. So what's this about war crimes?"

I watch as Sunstreaker clearly fills him in over the bond. Sideswipe's optics grow wider and wider.

"Well, frag me sideways," he breathes. "That's a slagged-up mess, Prime. So when are you leaving?"

"And who's going with you?" Sunstreaker adds, sharp optics focused on his leader.

"The time hasn't been set yet," Ratchet replies as he stands up. "It depends on how good Magnus is at stalling. In less than a quarter-vorn, definitely. Possibly a lot sooner."

It sounds so long. But I know it's not. It's not long at all.

"As to who," Ratchet continues, "that's not completely settled either. But we know Optimus and I are both going. Soundwave and his minions. Starscream and Thundercracker. And Isobel is going."

Twin pair of optics meet mine. "You're going?"

"I have to," I reply simply. "I'm their defense."

"Some of it, anyway," Ratchet amends. "We do need her."

"Ultra Magnus will distribute the preliminary list of mecha in a few days," Optimus says. "After we've had the chance to discuss it in a meeting. The Alliance representatives are just here for another day, after that they'll retreat to their ship and wait. Once they've left, we'll be able to plan further."

Sunstreaker looks from Ratchet to me to Prime, optics dropping briefly to Prime's chest. Sideswipe is staring at his brother, and if I thought his optics were wide before, it's nothing compared to now. For a moment his optics whiten, and I know I'm not the only one who fears he'll crash again. But then he grins.

"Oh, _slag_ yes. _Finally._ "

"Mute it," Sunstreaker growls. He straightens, shoulders back, and gives Optimus an even look. "Sign us up."

Optimus blinks.

"Sign us up for the trip," Sideswipe elaborates after a moment. "Because we're coming with you."

"Primus in the Pit," Ratchet swears. "No, you're not. Neither of you. You're barely out of that cave!"

"I'll work harder," Sunstreaker says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. Who knows, maybe it is for him. I know he's done harder things than this. "I'll get better. Because we're going."

"Like Pit you are."

"If all three of you are going, and Prime's carrying as well, yeah we are." Sideswipe gives Ratchet a level look. "You're going to need guards, and we're the best you have. You know you're safer with us than without us."

Ratchet growls and snarls a bit, but Optimus sighs, and I know the twins have won.

"All right," the Prime says finally. "But if either of your medics say you shouldn't, you're staying right here."

"Awesome." Sideswipe grins at me. "Isobel?"

I sigh. "Come on, then. We've got work to do."

Less than a quarter-vorn. I'd better start planning my time.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I got the summons to the meeting where the roster will be discussed. There was a roster draft attached, containing pretty much who Ratchet predicted. Only addition was a shuttle, though it seems they haven't decided who yet._

 _Part of me wants it to be Skyfire, because he's so clearly not a soldier. Part of me want it to be Blitzwing, because he so clearly is._

 _What a mess._

 _The twins ended up escorting me all the way back to my place before going back to the cave. They'll be packing up and moving into the town proper for the time we have left before we're leaving. I could tell just being here was taking a toll on Sunstreaker, but he pushed through. He's highly motivated._

 _I need to intensify his treatment plan if we have so little time. His and Star's and Soundwave's. Sunstreaker might be the simplest one – a desensitizing program of sorts, introduction to some of the nicer Decepticons, a safe space, and I think I can bring him around. I don't expect him to socialize, but I need to get him to relax around them. As much as he ever does, anyway. So I'm thinking Scavenger, Thundercracker, maybe Dead End. Maybe Blast Off as well. I'll have to see._

 _I think it's time to intensify Smokescreen's training too. Maybe he can handle some of the easier clients in my absence._

* * *

It's nice to show up to a meeting without any Alliance aliens present, even if we're still going to be discussing the same grim things. But I get a smile from Thundercracker and another from Prowl, and when I sit down it's almost with a light spark.

Of course, it doesn't last.

"Welcome," Ultra Magnus says, taking a seat at the head of the table. Optimus would normally sit there, but there's nothing normal about this. So instead, he's seated a few seats down next to Ratchet.

"I haven't prepared a detailed agenda for today," Ultra Magnus continues. His optics land on each of us in turn. "You all know why we're here. We need to decide who's going to leave for Earth and who's going to stay here, and we need to determine how Cybertron will be governed in the Prime's absence. Those two aspects are closely linked, so the latter is largely dependent on the former. You've all received a preliminary suggestion. It will need to be changed." He leans back, body language making it clear he's opening the subject for discussion. "Let me hear your opinions."

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have requested to come along," Optimus says, drawing more than one pair of optics.

Ratchet snorts. "Requested. That was a demand. If you hadn't outranked them, it would have been an order."

"I'm not sure they're what we need for this mission," Prowl muses. "It's delicate, and we need diplomats, not fighters."

"Ya need guards," Ironhide says bluntly. Like me, he's been invited because this is no normal meeting. "They'll do the job well."

"Is Sunstreaker up to it?" Thundercracker's optics meet mine. "I know he's been… sequestered."

"He's doing much better." There are limits to what I can reveal, but I know Sunstreaker would want me to fight for him on this. "He's motivated to work hard to make a full recovery."

"Honestly," Ratchet says, "considering who's going, I think it's better for his mental health to come along than to stay here. And that's disregarding how useful he is on the trip, as a guard or otherwise."

"Cynosura?" Ultra Magnus looks at me. "This is your field. Do you concur?"

My field. I like the way he says it, as if Ratchet's intruding on my expertise. Which, honestly, he is, but I was planning to let him get away with it. Mainly because he's right. "I do. I doubt Sunstreaker would take it very well if so many people he cares about were to leave the planet, and leave him behind powerless to protect them."

"Very well." Ultra Magnus makes a note on one of his datapads, then looks back at me. "I'll expect a new evaluation a few days before we leave. If, in your professional opinion, Sunstreaker – or Sideswipe – isn't well enough to go, they're not going."

I nod. "That's fair."

"Ya need more than just them. Two guards won't deter a dead Quint." Ironhide grins. "Take Cliffjumper. He won't want to let Starscream out of his sights anyway. He's all but attached at the hip."

…what?

Oh, nobody tells me _anything_ around here.

"Cliffjumper, Springer, maybe Hot Rod or Smokescreen," Jazz muses. "How're the Combaticons holding up?"

"We're not taking them to Earth," Scrapper replies flatly. "Vortex is still a bucketload of parts short of a sane processor, and Swindle can't be trusted. Besides, we'll want to keep most of the combiners here anyway. Just in case."

"Hot Rod may be a good idea, but then Kup should go as well." Ultra Magnus sounds as if that's almost a final decision already. "That youngster's too impetuous by far, and Kup's one of the few who can put the breaks on him if necessary."

"Smokescreen will need to stay here if I go," I point out. "He's the closest thing to a psychologist you have while I'm gone."

"Runabout and Runamuck, then," Jazz says. "They're a pit t' handle, I know that, but they're good fighters and don't lose their focus as easily as ya'd think."

I listen attentively as the discussion progresses, though I don't have a lot to contribute. I know some of the Autobots quite well, but they've all had centuries – millennia – to get to know another. They're better at this than me, at allocating resources where they're most needed, and figuring out who would work well together and who would really not and who would cause too much havoc if left in the same room. Like Rumble and Frenzy, who're only allowed to come because Soundwave's on trial. Prowl and Ultra Magnus will both be remaining here, and neither one of them look sad to see those two go.

"And of course, since Ratchet is going, First Aid will need to stay here." It's the conclusion to a longer argument that I wasn't quite following, and now I wish I had, because Ultra Magnus might as well have stuck a bomb under my chair and set it off for the shock in my systems.

"What?" I say dumbly.

"Ratchet will be going along, he needs to testify," Prowl explains patiently. There's a hint of pity in his optics. "So First Aid, as the highest qualified medic we have, will have to remain here."

No. No, I don't like that. I don't want to be half a universe apart from First Aid again. Not again. And I can't even find my voice to protest.

Jazz notices, of course he does, and he takes pity on me. "Maybe Groove should come along, then. We could always use his people skills."

"It'll split up Defensor," Prowl adds, "but I think we can live with that with both Superion, Devastator and Bruticus here. Besides, Groove is very good with humans. I might suggest bringing Streetwise too, if we can spare him." Prowl's optics meet mine. "He's got history on Earth as well."

Ultra Magnus nods and makes a note on his datapad.

I don't catch much after that. There's a hissing in my audials, muddling everyone's words, and I'm not sure I manage to answer the few questions that are posed to me coherently.

Luckily, the meeting doesn't last much longer. And Prowl is next to me as soon as Ultra Magnus announces we're done, taking my arm and offering to escort me home. I must look more shell-shocked than I thought.

I shake my head. "I'm not going home. I have a session with Starscream to get to." It's even true, though it's just something I added to my plans last minute.

Ratchet apparently knows that, because he's shaking his head. "Not today, sparklet. Your head's not in it. Go home to those two mechs of yours, tell them what's going on. They'll need to be briefed anyway, you might as well do it."

He doesn't say that I'll need their comforting touch to get past this. But I hear it anyway. I know it's true, too, because I'm having a hard time keeping calm. So I let Prowl take my arm again and lead me outside, let him and Jazz box me in for the short drive to my apartment, let them escort me inside.

Luckily, Groove and First Aid are already there, both wearing matching worried looks as Jazz all but hauls me inside.

"She's fine," I hear him say as First Aid catches me and cradles me against his chest. "Bit of a nasty surprise. Comm me if ya need anythin'."

Prowl looks at me and sighs. "She's not in a fit state to tell them. We might as well stay for a while longer, love, make sure they know what's going on."

* * *

I'm in First Aid's lap, and I never want to leave. Judging by the way he's holding me, he doesn't want me to either.

No one says anything.

Jazz and Prowl left some time ago. I listened to them as they told my Protectobots what was going on, what would need to be done, who would need to leave. They were about as happy about it as I am.

"We'll get through this, " Groove says. I can tell he's aiming for firm and reassuring, but he doesn't quite get there. "We got through worse. We can get through this too. Besides, we're not leaving yet."

"Talk to Rumble and Frenzy," I mumble. "They get internet. We can e-mail."

First Aid's arms tighten around me. I can hear the faint keen in the back of his throat.

"Come on." Groove takes our hands. "Come to berth. I need your sparks tonight."

That's the best idea I've heard in a while. I let him pull me up, follow him as he leads us both to the berthroom. Maybe if I lose myself in my Protectobots for the rest of the night, everything will look simpler in the morning.

It's a small hope. But it's the only one I have at this point.

Primus, I don't want to leave First Aid behind.


	15. Traction

Starscream's bunker seems less threatening, now that I know the mech inside is in touch with reality again. Not that that makes me any less nervous – it's the first time I'm back here since the day we all worked on him, and I'm not sure what I'm going to find. Hook and Ratchet have both checked up on him and have kept me in the loop, and Starscream's doing reasonably well all things considered, but I don't know if I'm ready to face him. I guess the only way to find out is to actually go inside.

Skyfire transforms behind me and puts a giant hand on my shoulder. "You ready?"

"I don't know," I admit. "You think he'll forgive me?"

"I think you really need to forgive yourself." Skyfire's voice is soft. "With what Star's lived through… He may be angry, he may be irrational, because that's his default response. But he knows what you did for him. He would have lost himself completely if not for you." His hand tightens slightly on my shoulder. "Come on. Let's go inside."

Technically, Skyfire isn't supposed to be here. He's supposed to fly me out here, then return to his work. But I don't call him out on it. He needs to be here, just as much as I do.

"Okay." I step out from under his hand and head towards the entrance. "Let's go do this."

As always, Cliffjumper's on the monitors. He seems to always be on duty, or at least always here. I wouldn't be too surprised if he recharges in here. It seems there really is truth to the attached-at-the-hip thing. I never would have seen that coming.

"How is he today?" Skyfire glances at the large one-way window. Inside, Starscream is standing by something that looks like a giant electronic whiteboard covered in some form of equation. He's frowning, staring at it, but he looks okay. He looks a million times better than the other times I've seen him.

"He's the new normal." Cliffjumper grins. "He's been cursing and ranting at that formula all day. I'd say it's a good day to start therapy. He could do with a fuel break."

As good an excuse as any, I suppose. So I follow Acid Storm into Starscream's apartment.

For the first time, Starscream looks up as I walk inside. He looks annoyed, probably at the interruption, but his expression softens when Acid Storm inclines his head respectfully and calls him Winglord.

"Cynosura is here to see you. She's one of the medics who were here the day your coding was edited."

Starscream frowns. He seems almost nervous, of all things, biting his lip and clenching his fists. "I… All right. Is Skyfire here? Can he come in after?"

"Sure he can, if you want." I sit down across from the large board, trying to appear as neutrally unthreatening as I can. "I assume you have things to talk about."

"We're working on a new form of energon filtration," Starscream replies. "It's important." He begins talking about fluidity and energy to solidity ratio and the merit of certain elements for energy bonding and more science that goes far over my head. I have a few creds in basic physics and chemistry, but what Starscream's talking about is so far beyond that that it might as well be a different form of science altogether.

Still, with all that, I'm just glad he's talking. Acid Storm seems to be thrilled as well, judging from the small smile on his face.

"I'm glad you get to work again." I lean back, look around at the apartment. "Is this place sufficient?"

Starscream waves a hand dismissively. "It'll do. I… It's not like I have any intentions to move elsewhere. Or any elsewhere that'll have me."

Acid Storm takes a step forward. I frown at him until he stands still again.

"You believe you would be unwelcome elsewhere?" I take care to keep my tone neutral.

Starscream sneers. "Of course not. I'm sought after. And my trine would… They would take me in. I think."

He's wavering between arrogant and tentative, nervous and confident. In any other patient it would be worrisome, but with the amount of slag that Starscream's lived through already, it's probably nothing more than could be expected. I feel much better about his chances now, even if the road to full recovery will be insanely long.

"Skywarp's getting bonded," Starscream says suddenly. "I want to be there. I want to support him."

"That's a worthwhile goal." I leave the statement hanging in the air, curious what he'll do with it.

"I don't know if I'm welcome."

"Is it important to you that they want you there?"

Acid Storm is looking from me to Starscream and back, following our conversation. I can practically feel Cliffjumper's optics on the back of my head.

Starscream looks down. He's biting his lip, though I don't think he knows he's doing it. "I know I don't deserve it. But I'd rather be welcome."

"You would be," Acid Storm interrupts, and I'm considering getting a private room for Starscream's next appointment. "Please, Winglord, you would be."

"You should talk to Skywarp about this." I shoot Acid Storm another look, willing him to shut up and fade into the background. "And if you want to, we can work on getting you ready for that ceremony."

"Yes." He looks away. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Tell me about them," I prompt after a moment. "Tell me about Thundercracker and Skywarp."

Starscream sighs, finally sitting down opposite me. "We used to be close." His voice is soft, quiet, more rational than I had expected. "Skywarp has always been rash, acting on intuition, jumping before he looks. And it always works out, too. He's confident. He adored Megatron instantly, and he's never… He's never felt guilty about convincing the rest of us to join."

"Do you blame him for that?" I emulate his tone, in the hopes that it will keep him calm. And determinedly ignore the way Acid Storm is almost vibrating behind Star. This isn't his business, or his place to say anything.

"No." Starscream shakes his head. "It was a good decision, in the beginning. I was the one keeping us there way past what was good for us. What was good for anybody." He clenches his jaw shut, lips closed in a narrow line. "I don't want to talk about that."

"That's fine." I pause, give him a moment to get himself back under control. "What about Thundercracker? Is he rash like that too?" I already know the answer to this one, but I'm not asking to learn more about Thundercracker.

"Thundercracker is rock-steady." Starscream smiles a little. "He's always needed convincing, and he considers things from every angle, but he's strong, and determined, and extremely loyal to the trine. We fit very well together, the three of us. Used to, anyway."

"You think that's changed?" We're getting closer to talking about Megatron again here, but hopefully this won't be so close that Starscream backs out.

"I had to push them away. To protect them." He looks away again, and I can almost see the walls come back up. Starscream will take time. "Did you know that Thundercracker is apparently courting Soundwave now? Primus knows how that happened. Soundwave never spoke two words to us."

"Peace changes many things," I offer. "Do you not approve?"

There's that annoyed hand-waving again, as if the whole topic is beneath Starscream's notice. "I approve of his happiness. He deserves that. Skywarp too, even if he is bonding to an Autobot."

"Everyone has a chance at happiness now." It's a loaded statement, one Starscream can turn either way, and he pretty much turns it as I suspected he would.

"Not everyone." He shakes his head. "For some, there's too much guilt. They don't deserve it."

We both – heck, all four of us, even Cliffjumper and Acid Storm – know who he's talking about.

"Far be it from me to put words in their mouth," I begin cautiously, "but I think Thundercracker and Skywarp would like you to be happy too."

Starscream shakes his head again, part dejected and part stubborn. "I have too much to make up for."

I open my mouth to object – carefully – to that, but I get interrupted by a priority ping. From Prowl. The message is short, but it shoots ice through my lines even so.

 _Soundwave has established contact with Earth. Astrotrain is on his way to get you._

I close my mouth again, take a moment to refocus. This is a bad time to freak out. When I'm sure I'm back in control of myself, I look at Starscream again. "I think you should talk to Skywarp and Thundercracker about that. Skyfire too – he's right outside, waiting to come in. And then you and I will talk again in a few days' time." I stand, ignoring Acid Storm's curious look. It is a weird place to end the appointment. "I'm afraid something's come up, and I have to head back. I'll send Skyfire in when I leave, okay?"

Starscream looks at me like he knows something's up, but thankfully he doesn't push. I'm not up to telling him he'll be brought to Earth for a trial, not today anyway.

I see myself out. Acid Storm seems content to hover at Starscream's wing, and Skyfire gives me a small, eager smile as I send him in. It takes conscious effort to remember that everyone else hasn't had their day interrupted by news that could be potentially devastating. That's just me.

The trip back on Astrotrain is long, and tense, and quiet.

* * *

The atmosphere in the big meeting room hits me like a punch to the face as I walk in. Ultra Magnus is there, alongside Prowl, both of them trying to appear calm and confident. I can see the tension in the way they hold themselves, though, and I don't think I'm the only one. Jazz is at Prowl's shoulder, all suave danger, somehow keeping both taller mechs calm. Scrapper's showing Magnus something on a datapad, and he doesn't seem too nervous either. Together, they almost look normal.

None of that helps against the sheer amount of stress that's coming from Ratchet, Soundwave and Thundercracker. I feel like I walked into a wall of it. None of the others are at ease either, and aside from Prowl nodding at me and Ratchet taking my hand as I sit down, none of them look at me. They're all focused on the large screen at the end of the table.

It's showing a human woman in a dark uniform, sitting in front of the United Nations flag. It's changed subtly, though I can't quite put my finger on what's wrong. The map contours seem blurry.

I don't get a lot of time to think about it. The woman raises her head, looks up from her desk, and I shiver.

I never thought I'd see a living human again.

"Greetings." Her voice is clipped, succinct, colored by an accent I don't recognize. "I am Ameryn Clarke, UN Security Council Liaison for Earth Plus, the branch of the Council responsible for handling alien and other extra-terrestrial situations. We received your documentation, and your request, and I have one question." Her eyes sharpen. "Why Earth?"

I watch her as Ultra Magnus replies, giving his name and rank, introducing the rest of us and briefly explaining the situation. It's soon clear that they're talking past each other, and she's looking more and more annoyed.

"Ultra Magnus, if I may." Usually Prowl wouldn't interrupt, he wouldn't need to, but I'm glad he did. This is like watching a train wreck. The fact that Ultra Magnus easily yields to Prowl is proof of that. "Mrs. Clarke, we chose Earth because we're in need. We know Earth has the necessary governing agencies in place."

Her brown eyes turn to him, still piercingly sharp. "Then you surely know as well that Earth has no reason to help you. Your race caused more devastation in a single stroke than we've ever managed ourselves."

"That may be true," he acknowledges. Rather diplomatically, I think, considering how good we – well, they, now – are at destroying themselves. "But since then, you've been left at peace. And this is an opportunity for Earth to form connections to alien civilizations far beyond our own."

"How so?" It doesn't look like he's appeased her much, but at least she's curious now. Prowl turns back to Ultra Magnus, who takes over as if they practiced this. Maybe they did, what do I know.

There's not much for me to do. I listen, mainly, and keep a hold of Ratchet's hand under the table. Is hold is tight - must be a lot more nervous about this than he appears. Which wouldn't be hard, considering his face is carefully, painstakingly neutral.

I know how he feels. I don't want to do this either. But the consequences of not doing it are too horrible to think about. None of us want a return to war.

"Agreed," the lady says finally. "I will contact the Criminal Court on your behalf, and we will begin establishing a new assembly with representatives from both departments. Contact me again in one week for more details on that, and so we can set up a travel itinerary. Until then." Her professional mask slips a little. "I am glad you're officially at peace now. God grant it remains that way."

The screen flickers and goes dark. Ratchet hides his face in his hands.

"This is actually good news," Ultra Magnus says cautiously. "It sounds like they're willing to do this sooner rather than later. Maybe we can put this behind us much faster than we thought."

"You're assuming we'll get off scot-free," Ratchet mumbles. "There's no guarantee of that."

"There's no guarantee of things going badly, either," Prowl points out sharply. "All we can do is prepare as best we can, and hope. On that note…" He glances down at his datapad before looking at me. "Cynosura, come with me, please."

I follow him out of the room, glancing back to see Jazz taking care of Ratchet. That's good – Ratchet looks like he's one ventilation away from panicking, and that won't help anyone.

I totally get it, though. I'm not too far from panicking myself.

Prowl leads me to a smaller office space down the hall. "We're working on potential allies," he explains as he leads me inside. "I was wondering if you remembered something or someone we don't."

Considering that the mech by the computer terminal is Streetwise, I seriously doubt it. I've never known him to forget anything at all, and unlike him, my mind's been dismantled and reassembled since we left Earth. This tastes like makework, like a distraction. Prowl's trying to keep me from worrying, it seems.

It can't be easy on him either, watching everything fall apart like this.

"Sure." I sit down next to Streetwise and rest my chin on his shoulder. "Who do you got so far?"

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I'm making a mental note to never, ever, ever try to sneak anything past Streetwise. That mech is as sharp as a tack, misses nothing and remembers absolutely everything. He would be scary if he wasn't such a sweetheart._

 _I didn't remember any names he didn't have. But it was nice to spend the afternoon looking up old friends and see what became of their families._

 _We found quite a few obituaries. That was heartbreaking. I'm actually glad Streetwise didn't have to read them alone._

 _Which was probably Prowl's second agenda, come to think of it. That mech is a master at decimating multiple birds with as few stones as possible._

 _…_ _One week._

 _One week until we're contacting Ameryn Clarke again. One week until we know when exactly we're leaving, how long we have._

 _It's too long. And it's not long enough. I'm torn between hoping they'll tell us we can come in a decade and hoping we can come right now, so it can be over and done with._

 _I have no idea how I'll tell Starscream that he has to come to Earth to stand trial. He's doing so much better, but I can't imagine that going back to Earth will be good for him at this point. I'm glad both Thundercracker and Skywarp are coming._

 _Sunstreaker is doing better too. He doesn't talk to any Decepticons, but I've had some luck introducing him to a few of the neutrals. He's set up a painting studio in the loft over the clinic, and according to Sideswipe the weaver across the street comes by all the time. I'm glad he's at least tolerating the Neutrals. Now if we could get him to accept anyone, any mech at all, wearing the purple brand… I think there's hope for Sunstreaker, but it will take time. At least being on Earth won't cause him or Sideswipe any problems. He should be able to leave when we have to._

 _I'm not, though. A week is nowhere near long enough to figure out how I'll manage being parted from First Aid again. I'm not sure how I'll handle that._

 _Primus, I need a distraction._

* * *

Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks I need something else to think about. Because distraction is at my door bright and early, grinning at me like she's a cat who finally got the canary.

"Hey, Cynosura," Arcee drawls. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" I've had my energon and am almost ready to leave, though I had actually planned to go to work. The clinic doesn't exactly run itself, even with Smokescreen's assistance. He's nowhere near ready to be working alone all the time.

Arcee doesn't seem to pick up on my tone. She takes my hand and tugs at it to get me moving. "We're going driving. I've been charged with making sure you're comfortable on your wheels."

"Charged? By whom?" I let her pull me along, mainly because we're going the way I was planning to go anyway. I can break away from her when we get closer to the clinic. I think.

"Jazz. He said you needed to blend in. Whatever that's supposed to mean."

I have a sneaky feeling I know exactly what that's supposed to mean. I don't much look like an Earth motorcycle, and I certainly don't move like one.

"I do have work today," I try, though I don't have a lot of hope that she'll listen.

And of course she doesn't. "Yeah, no, you don't. Smokescreen's covering for you, says he's having too much fun being the only shrink for you to come back to work yet." She winks at me. "Train that one too well and you'll be out of a job."

"I wish." I shake my head. "Not with the mecha around here."

Arcee's face falls. "Yeah. I guess. That's morose. Come on, let's get ourselves something else to think about." She veers left, and I suddenly recognize where we are. I've been here before, with Jazz, though we never actually got time to do much driving last time before he was called away. But I guess me knowing how to drive is a priority now, so it makes sense that he would send me a driving tutor.

I feel like I have to offer her a warning, though. "Sunstreaker will absolutely kill you if my paint is scratched."

"Not going to scratch your paint." She glances at my face and laughs. "Relax, Isobel. You look like I'm dragging you to your doom or something. We're just going to practice on this track until you're a bit more comfortable in your frame. Look, I even brought a cheer squad."

Over on a bench on the far side of the track, there's a flash of color. My optics change focus automatically – which I'm still not used to them doing – and the flash resolves itself into Hot Rod, standing on a bench and waving madly at me. Springer's sitting next to him, reclined and relaxed and grinning, and Blurr's –

\- suddenly right in front of me. "Holyslaglookatyou!"

I haven't seen Blurr since Earth. I'd managed to forget how hard it can be to understand him sometimes.

I've missed him, though. So I hug him back when he puts his arms around me. "SlagIsobelyoulooksogood."

"Throw the breaks on a bit, speedy." Arcee's almost groaning. "I know you can go slower than that without much trouble."

"Fine. I'll-slow-down-for-you-amateurs." Blurr's grin is rakish. "Though-it's-not-my-fault-your-audials-can't-cope."

Arcee gives an exaggerated sigh. "Sure. Let's go with that. Anyway, Cynosura, welcome to the track! You ready to give it a go?"

I turn in Blurr's arms, narrowly avoiding hitting his face with a shoulder blade. "Um. No?" The track's been altered since I was here last – it's not quite an obstacle course, but it's not far from it. There are bumps and holes and gravel in the road, barrels and debris to go around or over, even a mud patch.

I glare at Arcee. "Sunstreaker. Slow and painful death."

She waves a hand nonchalantly. "Only if you crash. Which you won't. Come on, do a round so we can see what we're working with here."

Blurr lets me go and pats my back. "That's-why-I'm-here. I-won't-let-you-crash-Isobel."

That actually is reassuring. He's fast enough to catch me before something bad happens, I think. I hope.

"Fine," I sigh. There's clearly no point in arguing with them. "But I warned you."

I move out to the middle of the track before transforming. At least this stretch is nice and even, so I can get started okay. It's almost calming, driving like this again. I've been in my root mode too much the last couple of days. It feels good to _move_.

The calm feeling lasts until the first turn. Suddenly the track's full of junk – there's rubble, small pieces of metal that looked like they were broken off buildings, broken glass, that kind of rubbish. Navigating through it is more challenging than I'd thought. I'm at least glad I'm not the one who has to clean this stuff up. Moving through it is bad enough.

The next long stretch starts with a ditch of water. It's not deep, or very steep, but it's enough to force me to slow way down so I can drive carefully into it and then back out. The water's cold where it splashes against my frame.

After the water, the track becomes bumpy and uneven. It wouldn't faze most mecha, I think, but I'm not used to this kind of surface yet. Not even the trips out to the twins' cave can compare to this. I half worry I'll shake apart before I get across.

A short flat stretch, then more bumps. A steep incline that I have to speed up a bit to scale, with an equally steep decline on the other side. The mud patch, which I decide to drive around – I won't be managing some of these obstacles if my wheels get muddy. A series of obstacles to maneuver through, some of them with very narrow margins. Then a fricking _jump_.

I think they're trying to kill me. Either that, or kill themselves. Death by Sunstreaker.

I spin through the gravel pit, nearly falling over twice in the process, and hit the second turn. Hot Rod waves encouragingly at me. Then I'm past them, going up on a narrow ledge with a drop on either side. Seriously, I wouldn't have driven these things on my bike back when I was human. This is insane. I refuse to believe this is what Jazz wanted me to do.

Off the ledge, through a narrow slalom course where I knock over at least five traffic cones, over another series of tall, even speed bumps. It feels like going over waves. Then, at last, a long stretch of nothing where I can speed up a bit.

I slow to a stop in front of Arcee and transform. She doesn't look impressed. "I think I could have gone around there faster if I walked. Blindfolded."

I frown a bit. "It's not that easy."

"It is, though. You're being overly careful when you don't need to be. You're made of metal now, stuff won't hurt the way it did before." She sighs before nodding decisively. "There's only one thing for it. I'll have to ride you."

"You'll have to _what_ now?" My voice is almost a squeak, and I don't get a response. Arcee transforms in front of me, and then her holoform is there.

Everything about it is painfully familiar. The hair, tied back in a ponytail. The skintight suit, not the same outfit that she wore on Earth but close enough. The smile.

"Transform back," she instructs me. "I'll guide you through, see if we can't get you more confident."

Um.

Okay.

I transform back, stand still for her to climb on. It's exceedingly strange, having someone straddling me like this. It feels sort of like giving someone a piggyback ride and yet not at all. Arcee's hands are firm and steady on my handlebars, feet pushing down against the footrests. I can feel her leaning forward.

"Okay, Cynosura." He voice is low, intent, and it's almost like she's murmuring directly into my audial. "Let's go."

She takes control, and we're off.

She doesn't bother driving around the rubble, instead going straight across the shards of glass and metal. "Your wheels aren't rubber tires. Driving over the sharp edges won't hurt you unless you go too fast."

She's right. I can feel the pieces break apart underneath me. I hadn't expected that.

Arcee speeds up on approaching the water. When I try to resist, she actually pinches me. "None of that now. If you can't let me have control, we can't do this. It's too dangerous if we fight each other."

I let her drive me into the water. It splashes everywhere, but we're quickly through, and much more easily than I'd imagined.

The bumpy part is worse. Arcee doesn't let me slow down much, she keeps me moving fairly fast, and I'm not sure my suspension is built to take the punishment. Maybe Ratchet will be killing Arcee too.

Still, we get through. Arcee treats the second stretch of bumpy road like it's a jump, going head-on for it and rushing me through. It's jarring and uncomfortable, but we manage. She takes the steep incline fast enough to really turn it into a jump, and I almost fall over when I land, but she saves me somehow.

"Pay attention to what I do." It's almost a command. "You'll be doing this yourself soon."

I'd groan if I could focus enough to manage.

At least Arcee swerves around the mud patch too. She's not slowing down for the big obstacles – instead, she does something to my handlebars that somehow separates my front wheel into its two halves, making me more steady and much more maneuverable as we dart past everything. I'd forgotten I could do that.

The jump at the end of the stretch is completely insane, and I'd swerve out to avoid it if I wasn't so scared of crashing. Arcee speeds up, forcing me over, and I have a second or so to be terrified before we hit the ground again. Turns out I'm steadier on three wheels, because the impact is almost easy. Then she speeds up again as we head towards the gravel pit, pushing my front wheel back together as we go.

"You're going to want a decent speed on the way in," she insists. "You can't speed up in the gravel, not without spinning out. So faster now, missy."

I obey. I can't not. I have no idea what I'm doing, and Arcee clearly does. The gravel sprays behind my tires, but it's a lot easier this time. And Arcee handles the rest of the obstacles like a pro. Her balance is impeccable as she keeps me straight over the ledge, and we go through the slalom course with tiny adjustments that always come at the perfect time, quickly over the speed bumps that turn to small jumps. And then she guns my engine.

We practically fly down the flat stretch. It feels _amazing_.

She turns us around at the end and heads back along the open part of the track, finally drifting to a stop in front of our spectators. Hot Rod whoops. "That was awesome!"

"It was an improvement, anyway." Arcee doesn't dismount. "You okay, Cynosura?"

"I think you have a death wish," I reply. "I mean, that was awesome, but I don't think I'm lucky enough to survive this twice."

"We'll see." I hear the grin in her voice. "Come on. Turn around, we'll go again."

Damn it.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I'm sore all over. Arcee kept me at it until I could do the track with her riding me, but under my own control, and then I had to do a couple of laps on my own. It was seriously hard work, but I got better. And I guess I see where it's useful. Especially since I have to fit in on Earth and look like any other Cybertronian._

 _At least Arcee had the grace to get me cleaned up afterward. The track has a wash rack attached, which I guess is good considering that mud patch. She's also really good at getting into seams and stuff, I think I'm cleaner now then I was this morning._

 _I also got all the gossip, which was fun. Arcee's not dating Blaster anymore – apparently, someone now has the hots for someone else, though she wouldn't say who it was – but they're still good friends, and since there's not much going on that Rewind and Eject (and Laserbeak) miss, she knows almost everything. Surprisingly, Hot Rod contributed eagerly to the gossiping as well. It's clear that he's attracted to Arcee, poor thing, but it's not reciprocated. She told me in a quiet moment that he feels more like a younger relative._

 _It was so good to have an afternoon of just hanging out with friends. No Alliance, no therapy plans, no worries, just talking and having fun and wasting the time being ridiculous. I really needed the break._

 _I even got to talk to Springer a bit. We talked shop, of course, to the others' great annoyance. Not that they didn't deserve a bit of shop talk after trying to kill me with that obstacle course._

 _Springer said the Stunticons are still being troublesome. Motormaster's foul, and he's started pushing through the energy bars of his cell to reach out and physically hurt his gestalt mates. That spirals out to the others, so everyone's doing a lot worse than they were. It's not good, and something needs to be done._

 _I think I need to pay the Stunticons another visit._


	16. Making matches

A/N: Look at the awesome artwork that TheAwkwardEnthusiast made of Cynosura! Since this site hates links, you'll have to remove a few spaces: twitter itzenthusiasm/ status/1207408550462386176?s=19

I was so excited to see it :D :D I've been wanting to have art made of my girl for ages, so I jumped at the chance to get this commission done ^^

* * *

"Hey, Groove?" I roll over until I'm halfway resting on his chest. He's resisting waking up, I can feel it over the wires still connecting us, but it's mainly because he's so comfortable. First Aid, on the other end of the connection, is deeply in recharge.

"Hmm?" He sounds half-asleep, which is no shortage of adorable, and for a moment I'm tempted to just snuggle up and enjoy the closeness. But I need this figured out first, or my mind won't let it go.

"Who do I talk to about getting the Stunticons out of jail?"

He's suddenly wide awake and staring at me. "You want to do what now?" At least he manages to keep his tone low so First Aid doesn't wake up.

"Not all of them. Just Dead End and Breakdown." I sigh, resting my chin on his chest. "They're not doing well. And keeping the Stunticons together is detrimental to all of them. I need to come up with an alternate solution, or they'll be destroying each other."

Groove's smile is soft, as is the hand caressing my cheek. "You never stop saving people, do you?"

"Better get used to it." I nuzzle into his palm. "I can't relax knowing they're not doing well. Do you know who I can talk to?"

"I guess Ironhide. Prowl's technically responsible, but he's got other things to worry about right now."

I can't suppress the wince. "True. I'll comm Ironhide then."

"I'd show up at his door if I were you." He smiles up at me, hand moving to stroke my finial. "It'll be harder for him to say no in person."

I giggle. "I'll take advantage of that."

Groove's frame is warm beneath me, arms strong around my back. Suddenly I don't want to think about the Stunticons anymore.

He seems to catch my changing mood. His smile turns greedy, hands trailing down my frame. "Something you want?"

"Your frame. And then your spark." I'm not shy about this anymore, though I am mindful of First Aid still recharging. "Should we disconnect him?"

"That'll wake him for sure. If the charge wakes him up, he can join us." Groove surges up, one hand holding on to the back of my head as he kisses me greedily. "I want you."

I let myself fall into him, into the touches and caresses and hot, whispered words.

* * *

Ironhide and Chromia live in one of the older buildings, close to the center of town. It's narrow, and cramped, and very cozy, with one flat on each floor and windows on all sides. I glance at the nameplates outside the front door as I ping for entrance, not too surprised when I recognize most of the names. Tracks. Windcharger. Blurr. There are a few unknown names too, like Barricade and Tailgate, but it seems like this building is just what it looks like; a quiet, peaceful place to live, with no big names coming and going and everyone just getting along well enough.

The door buzzes open in front of me.

The inside is just as tiny and nice as the outside. On the third floor, the door's ajar, and there's a familiar figure waiting for me.

"Have to say, I thought I would have seen you sooner." Chromia grins at me. "Learning to fight not a priority right now?"

"Hopefully never," I admit truthfully. "It's good to see you."

"You too, Cynosura." She steps aside. "Come on in, 'Hide's inside."

The inside of their apartment is very… them. There's not a lot of room, but it seems spacious because of the lack of furniture. There's a training mat on the floor in one room, and a berth pad on the floor in another, and a bunch of large pillows in what's probably the living room. Ironhide's seated on one of them, a datapad in his hand.

I drop down on another pillow. It's surprisingly comfy. "Hi, Ironhide."

"Cynosura." He puts the datapad down and gives me a smile. "Come to schedule more training?"

"Hardly." I shake my head. "I came to talk to you about the Stunticons."

Ironhide frowns. "Okay. Not what I expected, but okay. What's up?"

I take a deep breath. Or would, if that was how my frame worked. "I want to get Dead End and Breakdown out of prison."

Ironhide is shaking his head before I even finish talking. "No can do. They're in there for everyone's protection, kid. Not just their own. They're insane."

Oh, he does so not have the right to use that term. "They are not," I bite back. "Not those two, anyway. And Wildrider and Dragstrip are too close to Motormaster for me to have a chance to figure out how to even help them." I lean forward, try to impress on him how serious I am about this. "I need Dead End and Breakdown out, Ironhide. Menasor's already seriously unstable. Do you want an unhinged gestalt on your hands?"

Ironhide glares at me. Then he laughs, loudly. "Oh, you haven't lost any of your attitude in that body change, have you?"

I'd be offended if this was anyone but Ironhide. But coming from him, that is a compliment. "Most definitely not." I sigh. "I'm serious about this. I need your help, Ironhide."

"Yeah, you do." He looks at me seriously. "This isn't as easy as to pop the cuffs off them and run them through a mandatory psych eval. Those two need a lot of help. They're not ready to be on their own, Breakdown in particular."

"I know. I know that." I try my best smile. "That's why I need your help."

* * *

It takes several days of planning. Check-ins with Prowl, Ultra Magnus, Ratchet, Hook and Red Alert. More comm calls than I've ever done before. But in the end, it all comes together like I wanted it to.

"You work hard when you want something," Ironhide comments as we walk up to the prison.

I shoot him a grin. "You shouldn't be surprised by that."

"I'm not," he chuckles. "I'm a little impressed, yeah, but not surprised." He nods at the building. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Truth is, I haven't talked this over with Dead End. Or Breakdown. Heck, I've never even talked to Breakdown. But this is in their best interest. I just hope they'll agree.

Springer meets us inside, nodding respectfully to Ironhide. "I haven't talked to them. But Motormaster is sedated, as you requested. Hook wasn't too happy about it, but he got it done."

"Good. With him out, we stand a decent chance at getting to the others without too much ruckus." Ironhide glances at me. "You have a plan for getting them out of here?"

"Yeah." I straighten, mentally preparing for going inside. "I'm going to ask them."

It's a very simple plan. And I'm fairly sure Dead End won't be a problem. He's made great progress in his sessions. Breakdown is a wildcard. He might not even listen to me.

"Dragstrip and Wildrider?" Ironhide asks, stepping through the door as Springer opens it.

"Wildrider burns through sedation too fast for it to do any good," Springer explains. "Drag Strip is simpler." He winks. "We gave him a gaming datapad. It won't survive for long, but hopefully it'll be just long enough."

This feels like a strange mix of undercover military operation and prank. The mood is really weird.

I nod at Runabout and Runamuck as we walk past them. Ironhide's told me that they'll be in here for just a few more days, and then they'll be surrendered to Kup's and Ultra Magnus' tender mercies for some proper training. If they're going to be on the mission to Earth, they need to be integrated into the command structure. And learn to listen, which I suspect is a taller order.

They're not my problem today, though. Or at all, if Springer is to be believed. So I'm focusing my attention on the mechs who are.

The Stunticons' cells are much calmer than last time I was here. Motormaster is out, lying on the floor in a heap. Hook is in his cell, connected to his medical port. He gives me a brief nod. "I'll keep him under until you're out."

"Out?" Wildrider leers at me. "Where are you going, pretty plating? Are you leaving without us?"

"Hello, Wildrider." I keep my tone neutral. "How are you?"

"Could be better." His optics rove over me. "Wanna help?"

I'm grateful when Springer steps between us, blocking his view of me. Wildrider gives me the creeps – and I'm fairly certain there's not much I can do for him. Not without intense sessions and a seriously long-term treatment plan, anyway.

A problem for another day.

Dead End looks up at our approach, nods politely. I've got great hopes for him. And now I'm really glad we've already established a rapport. I'm not fool enough to think he trusts me – he doesn't trust anybody – but he'll listen.

"Hi, Dead End." I offer him a smile.

"Stand up and stand back, please." Springer is all professional, clearly trying to not aggravate the situation. He pulls a pair of stasis cuffs from subspace.

Dead End sighs. "I knew this would happen." He does as ordered, though, holding his hands up in front of him. "Kind of a pathetic end, but it's nothing more than I'd expected."

Springer steps forward calmly and puts the cuffs on him. "It's not an ending, mech. It's a beginning."

I move over to Breakdown's cell. Just like last time, he's hiding back in the covered area. I can see the glint of light reflected in his plating.

I have no idea how to handle this one. All I know about him is what I've read. And coming straight at him is the best bad option – sneaking around the corners will just make him distrust me more.

"Breakdown." I keep my voice calm and even. "You and Dead End are being moved to a different facility. You will not be harmed. Please come forward."

I don't really expect it to work. But somehow it does. There's movement in the pile of plating, slow, hesitant, but movement all the same. Little by little, Breakdown shifts forward. He doesn't stand up fully, not really – it's more of a hunched-over shuffle, like he's making himself small to avoid being seen by others. Dead End glances at him and shakes his head.

Springer steps away from Dead End's cell, leaving Dead End with Ironhide. He stops in front of Breakdown's cell door. "Stand up and stand back, please."

I like the way he works. He's keeping to a ritual, establishing a routine. It's probably not that important to Dead End, but it's critical to Breakdown. If there's a routine, there's something in place that he can trust.

He doesn't look at Springer. But he steps back, holding his hands in front of him like Dead End did. When Springer unlocks the door and puts the cuffs on him, he doesn't struggle.

"Hey, what about us?" Wildrider demands, punching the energy bars. "Aren't we coming too?"

"No," Springer replies without looking at him. He isn't looking at Breakdown too much either, I notice, not aside from those cuffed wrists. I decide to take a page out of Springer's book and look away. "You'll be moved to new cells later today, Wildrider. Be as patient as you can until then." He guides Breakdown forward, past the other cells and back the way we came. Ironhide follows with Dead End, leaving me to bring up the rear.

"Scrapper will make sure the twins are distracted," Springer says, quietly enough that the rest of the Stunticons can't hear it. "We'll be out of here in a few minutes."

It really feels like walking out of Gringotts with all their gold in my subspace. Or simply walking past the guards of any bank in the world. Or, for that matter, just walking out of prison in someone else's clothing. We're out of the prison without any problems whatsoever.

Outside, Ultra Magnus is waiting with his trailer already open. Springer guides Breakdown inside, and Ironhide follows with Dead End. I comm Ultra Magnus as soon as we're all inside, letting him know we're ready.

That went a lot better than I'd feared. But we're not out of the woods yet.

The drive isn't too long. As soon as Ultra Magnus has stopped completely and opened his trailer, I'm outside and ready to unlock the door to the center.

Of course Smokescreen is already there. I have no idea how he found out, and he just offers me a grin instead of an explanation.

He's got entirely too good a poker face. Which is part of what'll make him a good psychologist.

I lead the strange procession inside. Neither Stunticon seems very interested in their surroundings as we head to the largest meeting room, where the others should be waiting for us.

The chairs are set up in a circle. It's intentional, to avoid anyone paying Breakdown too much attention. Four of the seats are already taken, and I smile at Red Alert and Inferno, then at Hound and Mirage before sitting down in a free seat. Smokescreen follows my lead – I notice he's set up an extra chair for himself – and the others follow suit.

For a moment, the silence is tense. Then Dead End sighs. "So. Not an execution."

"No," I agree. "Not an execution."

Ironhide looks at me. It reminds me that I'm supposed to be in charge of this whole affair. I direct my words at the two Stunticons. "You're probably wondering why you're here." I wait for a reaction, not too surprised when I don't get one. "After thorough discussion, we've made the decision to separate you two from the rest of your gestalt. This is mainly because we feel that you would do better in a different scenario, and because it'll give us the chance to work differently with the three Stunticons still incarcerated. As of this moment, the two of you are on parole."

"Parole?" Dead End looks surprised, like this was far outside the scope of what he expected.

"Parole," I repeat. "You will both be housed in halfway homes of sorts, where you will receive health care and training in a vocation you're comfortable with. The mecha you live with will be responsible for you, and you will check in daily with Ironhide or a designated replacement if Ironhide isn't available. This arrangement will be evaluated at regular intervals."

I take a moment to enjoy the stunned look on Dead End's face. Breakdown is unfortunately still huddled up in his chair, glowering at everyone.

"If you have complaints, or if something is wrong, if you don't get along with your caretakers or for some reason seek to end the arrangement, we will discuss is. You can always reach out to Ironhide, or to me, or to Smokescreen. We will do our best to make sure you're doing well." I look at Dead End, who looks back at me, then at Breakdown, who doesn't. "This is meant to be to your advantage. We want to help. We – I – want to see you thrive. Do you have any questions?"

Breakdown is still. Dead End shrugs.

"Very well." I look at Dead End first – if we start with him, it might give Breakdown a chance to relax. "You may know of them already. But allow me to introduce Hound and Mirage."

When we'd discussed who would house the Stunticons, it wasn't hard to come up with options for Dead End. Despite his attitude he's generally likeable and doesn't cause much trouble. He needs a firm hand, they all do, but he's not a bad kid. He's just young and maladjusted. With that in mind Ironhide suggested himself and Chromia, or Kup, or even the Aerialbots, but we landed on Hound and Mirage in the end. Primarily because I know Mirage is equipped to handle pretty much anything Dead End can think up and still be nice, and Hound is just the most easy-going person I think I've ever encountered. Hopefully it'll be a good fit.

"Hello, Dead End." Mirage has taken on the tone I remember well from Earth, the smooth, cultured, enticing timbre that is meant to draw you in without you noticing. I have to make myself not smile at it. "I am Mirage. We're looking forward to mentoring you. I hope it will be beneficial for you."

"And I'm Hound." Hound has an easy smile on his face. "Any questions, just ask."

Dead End just shrugs again. "None right now. Oh, wait. Do I get wash rack access?"

Mirage chuckles. "As much as you want. And your own berth room. Access to the polishes and paints we keep on hand." He winks. "We've stocked up on your colors."

There's a faint hint of a smile on Dead End's face. That's enough to let me know this was the right decision.

One down. One incredibly difficult one to go.

"Breakdown." I wait for a reaction. After a minute or so, he glances at me suspiciously. I nod towards the other two 'Bots we brought in for this. "Breakdown, this is Inferno and Red Alert."

"Hello, Breakdown." Red Alert's voice is brisk and no-nonsense. "I'm the Autobot Security Director. That means I control the cameras."

Breakdown blinks at him, and I dare to hope.

"We live in a secured building at the edge of the settlement," Red Alert continues. "It's a fenced-in property with top notch security systems, installed by myself. It is not part of the public security grid, and the inside of the house has no cameras, no surveillance, no easily accessible vents or windows. _Nothing_ is hackable, there's no way for anyone outside of the building to get access."

"You will have your own room," Inferno says, taking over the explanation. "There's a window with privacy screens, and a lock on the door that can be coded to your specifications. No one else will have access, except Red Alert. You will have your own private wash rack as well. We will not intrude on your privacy unless you're comfortable with us doing so."

Breakdown is staring at both of them now.

"You're of course free to move around the building as you please, outside of our own private rooms." Red Alert gestures to himself and Inferno. "We will arrange for outside tutors if you want, or we will tutor you. Our goal in this," he leans forward intently, "is for you to be comfortable."

"In time, we hope you'll trust us," Inferno supplies. There's a hint of hope in his voice.

"At the very least, we want you to feel safe." Red Alert doesn't smile. I don't think he smiles often. "I designed this system with myself in mind. I believe it could work well for you too."

Red Alert has improved a lot since the war ended. He has fewer episodes, doesn't need as much medical attention anymore. He's got control. He's still a bit of a paranoid glitch, though. And I've never been happier about that.

Breakdown stares for another moment, before giving a curt nod.

I can feel the weight dropping from my shoulders.

"There's a contract for everyone to sign, if you're all agreed." I stand up and get the relevant datapads to hand out. "It's a formality, mostly, but signing it also makes it official. That means that Dead End and Breakdown, you sign up for monitored parole with regular contact with your parole officer. And Hound, Mirage, Red Alert, Inferno, you sign up for mentoring responsibilities and will be held accountable for your mentee's actions."

"I've read this through," Red Alert murmurs, clearly for Breakdown's benefit. "It's solid. They're not out to fool anybody." He signs his name and hands the datapad to Inferno.

After a few seconds, Breakdown signs as well.

Holy crap. I think we've found the perfect match for Breakdown.

The meeting doesn't last much longer after that. Mirage drags a grinning Hound and a bemused Dead End out, chattering about energon goodies and the merit of glossy versus matte polish. Dead End waves at me as they leave.

Red Alert stands, somehow managing to gather up Inferno and Breakdown without looking at either of them. Inferno doesn't look at Breakdown either, but still manages to place himself in the rear so that Breakdown is hidden from view by his larger frame. Red Alert nods at me, Inferno offers a smile, and then they're gone as well.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Ironhide's hand crashes down on my shoulder. "That was a frickin' great idea, kid."

"Thanks for helping me." I stop suppressing the grin, now that they're gone. This went so much better than I'd feared. "I didn't think we'd succeed this well."

"I have to admit, I had my doubts about Red Alert," Springer muses. "But now I actually think it'll be the perfect place for Breakdown."

"Red Alert is paranoid enough that he's created a shield around himself," Smokescreen muses. "And Breakdown knows that. Pit, everyone knows that. Turns out, Breakdown can hide behind that shield too. And then Inferno is easygoing enough to ease them both out of it. Look at the progress Red has made."

I stare at him, one eyebrow raised. "Who died and made you a psychologist?"

Smokescreen smirks. "What can I say? I've been trained well. Speaking of, you have a few more sessions today."

"I haven't forgotten." I can't put everyone on the backburner. There are far too many mecha needing help for that. "Ironhide, Springer, thank you."

"Thank you." Springer smiles at me. "I never felt good about those two locked up in there." He holds out a hand for me to shake. His hand is big enough to almost engulf mine completely.

"Let me know when the rest of them have settled a bit more, and I can come out and work with them?" I ask as I walk them to the front door.

"Definitely. Drag Strip and Wildrider hopefully just need some time to settle, away from Motormaster's influence." He sighs, a faint frown etching his face. "That one will need a lot of work, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, he will." I shake my head. "Problem for another time. I'll see you around, okay?"

"Sure thing, Cynns." Springer winks at me.

I groan. "Oh, not you too. It's bad enough I can't get Roddy to stop calling me that."

And Hot Rod is going to Earth with us. I'm going to be hearing that cursed nickname a _lot_.

Springer just laughs at me as he leaves, though, Ironhide following him and grinning.

Slaggers.

I close the door behind them and turn to Smokescreen. "So who've we got today?"

Smokescreen hands me a datapad with my schedule on it. There's a smattering of familiar names, most of them low profile cases. But not the last one.

"Soundwave asked," Smokescreen explains, seeing where I'm looking. "And Thundercracker asked for him. Pit, even Prowl asked. Apparently we need him able to handle whatever's going to happen on Earth."

There had been no keeping it secret from Smokescreen. He's too integral to what's going to happen, he needs to be trained more intensively if he's going to be able to handle being alone with this in my absence. We had to tell him.

This secret's becoming rather public.

"Of course he did." I sigh. "Well, we might as well get to work. I think you should sit in on every appointment today, if they'll let you."

Smokescreen nods. "I'll get the forms ready."

It's a daily grind. But I'm kind of enjoying it. Even with Soundwave thrown into the mix.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I got a comm from Hound as I left the clinic. Apparently, Dead End has already settled in really well. He hasn't stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he seems happy with the situation._

 _That right there is worth it._

 _Primus, I'm tired. I could sleep for a week. Today's been one of those emotional… not rollercoasters, exactly, but a continuous stressor. From the Stunties to regular Neutrals to ex-Decepticons to freaking Soundwave, all in the space of a work day, and I still brought work home with me. It's exhausting._ _ **But**_ _I have more treatment plans to make, plus more information packets to prepare for Smokescreen, and I want to get started on a few more group talks._

 _First Aid works late today. He traded shifts around so Ratchet could spend time with Optimus. And so he could be in charge of little Level's weekly check-up. He's promised me image captures, too._

 _I'm glad there will be more sparklings around. Hopefully Optimus' one won't be the last bitlet I hear of in the near future._


	17. What happens next

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Groove's optics are earnest, his arms warm and tight and _safe_ around me.

"Of course I do." I rest my forehead against his for a moment. "But you have a shift to get to. This is important, but not to the exclusion of everything else. We'll be fine."

"You're the most important part to me," Groove argues. "I can blow it off."

I pull back slightly so I can frown a bit at him. "You can, but from what I heard they asked for you specifically. Rebuilding is important, Groove. All First Aid and I will be doing is listening to a meeting." I kiss him briefly. "We'll be fine. Now go, you don't want to be late."

"I love you." Groove kisses me back, deeper and fiercer, and I let him. Of course I let him. I have no resistance when it comes to my Protectobots.

Thankfully, First Aid is less immune to his brother. He places a hand on Groove's neck and gently tugs him away. "Come on, bro. You've got somewhere to be, and so do we. I'll keep you posted, okay?"

"Please do." Groove's grin isn't quite as carefree as usual. "I'll be a nervous wreck all day anyway, but I'd like to know as soon as you do."

"You will." First Aid presses their foreheads together, then lets him go. "Now get. Scrapper's waiting for you."

I watch Groove transform and dart away. He's chunkier than me, more robust, can undoubtedly take more punishment offroad, and he's so fricking gorgeous. I stare until he's out of sight.

First Aid holds out a hand to me. "Ready?"

"Not by a long shot." I shake my head. "But let's go."

We're walking today. We're not going far, and I'm too nervous to drive. Even with Arcee's lessons, I need to focus to be on my wheels. I have a ways to go yet on that front.

First Aid holds my hand, a secure anchor by my side, and lets me think. I'm no good for conversation today, and he knows it. I'm way too stressed.

Getting to the council building takes an eternity and no time at all.

We're not going to sit in the main council chamber when they call Earth. There's really no need for me to be there, and besides, Prowl decided to forbid it for good measure. Apparently he thinks I don't need the stress of sitting there and acting normal about the whole thing.

He's not wrong.

So instead, we're waiting in one of the conference rooms. It's been tastefully furnished with lounges and low tables, and has its own energon dispenser in the corner, and I don't really care about any of it. What I care about is First Aid still holding on to my hand when we walk inside.

Ratchet and Optimus are already there. So is Soundwave and Thundercracker. No one looks very calm. Ratchet is sitting ramrod straight at Optimus' side, a painfully neutral expression on his face. Optimus is running a hand up and down his back.

I get Ratchet. I feel exactly the same way.

Soundwave is a lot less composed. He's almost curled up next to Thundercracker, almost hidden behind strong arms and wide wings. None of them are speaking, but Thundercracker nods at me as we walk in.

I sit down next to Ratchet. As soon as First Aid's seated as well, I curl up in his arms and pull Ratchet closer. Surprisingly he allows it, and Optimus follows. Soon we're a huddle of warm metal.

It's nice. And I'll need it to get through this morning.

"Hey, sparklet." Ratchet sounds hoarse. "You okay?"

"Way you look, I should be asking you that." I take one of Ratchet's hands and squeeze it. "None of us are okay right now."

And this is just waiting for the arrangements to be made. I can't help wondering how stressed out we'll be when it comes to the actual trial.

There's a large screen on one of the walls. It blinks on suddenly, half of it showing Ultra Magnus and the rest of the present council mecha. The other side is still black.

Optimus straightens slightly. "It's almost time."

No one comments. Soundwave burrows deeper into Thundercracker's arms.

On the right side of the screen, the UN flag appears. To distract myself, I focus on what's wrong with the damn thing. It really doesn't look like I remember it.

It's almost like all the land edges are blurry somehow.

I pull away from Ratchet and First Aid and walk toward the screen. It's thankfully big enough to show the map in detail.

The edges aren't blurry. They're gone.

There's a lot less of Europe than there should be. South America, too. It looks almost pock-marked, like the land's been –

Like it's been eroded. By the water.

I'm so close to the screen that when the flag is replaced by Ameryn Clarke's face, the surprise is enough to knock me on my aft. Literally. I wince as I push myself back up.

"You okay, sparklet? That was some fall." Ratchet sounds concerned, but he's grinning at me, the fragger.

Good. He needed some cheering up.

I sit back down between him and First Aid. "I'm okay. Now shush, they're starting."

I'll worry about the land and the sea level later.

"Ultra Magnus," Ameryn Clarke says, inclining her head. "Prowl. Thank you for your promptness."

"Of course," Ultra Magnus replies. "Thank you for taking the time to talk to us."

I take Ratchet's hand again as they exchange pleasantries. And discuss the state of the UN. And clarify the transit time between Cybertron and Earth. And discuss how Cybertron's new government is doing.

Primus, are they _ever_ going to get to the point?

It seems to take forever before Prowl nods and says "Mrs. Clarke, do you have an answer for us?"

"I do." She looks strict, papers gathered in a neat stack in front of her. "Earth Plus and the United Nations hereby accept the petition to act as judicial power in the conflict between the Intergalactic Alliance and the united people of Cybertron."

Besides Ratchet, Optimus in-vents in what has to be relief.

"Did you think they'd turn us down?" I wonder.

"I feared it." He reaches out with his free hand and touches my helm. "Now we know who we're dealing with."

"Thank you," Ultra Magnus says on the screen. There's a small, relieved smile on Prowl's face, a quirk of one corner of his mouth that wouldn't be recognizable for anyone who doesn't know him well. "May I ask what timeframe you consider appropriate?"

"You may." Mrs. Clarke looks down at her documents again. I don't know why, but it feels like an act. I'm sure she knows everything on those pages by heart. "Considering the transit time between Earth and Cybertron, and the need for Earth and the Security Council to prepare for your arrival, we suggest an initial court date on March fourteenth, our calendar. That's seven Earth weeks from now."

Seven weeks.

My optics are fritzing. Next to me, Ratchet is as tense as I've ever felt him.

Clarke looks up. "Would that be acceptable?"

It has to be. We have no choice.

"That is acceptable," Ultra Magnus replies. "Please forward any questions and inquiries you have, and we'll get started."

I tune them out after that.

"How long is the transit time?" I ask weakly. "I missed that info somehow."

"Three Earth weeks," Thundercracker says heavily. "Three Earth weeks on Blast Off and Astrotrain's top speed."

God-fucking-dammit.

"I need to comm Skywarp." Thundercracker's voice is bleak.

"Have him come to our house," Optimus says softly. "Groove, too. All of you, come to our house. You're off duty for today. We're going to sit down and digest this."

* * *

Sitting down and digesting looks an awful lot like a party. Or maybe a wake, considering everyone's mood.

Skywarp showed up directly in Optimus' living room with Bluestreak in tow. He fell on his trinemate as soon as he warped in, and hasn't let go since. Soundwave is in Optimus' big chair, covered in cassettes. Ratchet is nursing a cube of high-grade, and he's stuck to Optimus' side like he's been magnetized to his mate.

I'm clinging to First Aid. I can't not.

"We'll be okay," he murmurs, hands steady on my frame. Groove is leaning against his back, arms around his waist. "You'll be okay, and I'll be okay. We'll be fine. It's four weeks. You'll be back a few months after that. We can do this."

I just cling harder.

Optimus makes a noise. If he was human, I'd say he was clearing his throat. "My friends. My family."

I turn enough to see him. First Aid, bless him, turns with me.

"I know this feels like the end of what has been for many a happy time." Optimus glances at Skywarp and Bluestreak. His arm tightens around Ratchet. "But it's not. It's not the end of anything. Yes, we'll have to prepare for the worst. But I do not believe the worst will come to pass. I have faith that we'll all be back here in six months, reunited with friends and loved ones, ready to keep rebuilding our world. And there's not a one of you I don't want here with me."

Optimus is good at speeches. But even he can't settle us completely.

Ratchet sighs and pulls away slightly. "Come on. You're all staying here tonight. We're pulling all the pillows and meshes and berth pads into the living room."

"Why?" Skywarp cants his head.

Ratchet grins. There's nothing happy about it. "Because I'm not sending anyone home tonight. We're having a sleepover."

I giggle. I don't know what else to do. "Why?"

"Because we're in this together," Optimus says, almost sadly. "And I want you all here with me tonight."

Well, frag. There's no way anyone's going to say no to that.

It doesn't take long before there's a nest of soft materials on the floor. Optimus reclines in the middle of it and opens his arms for Ratchet, who is of course a grump and makes a fuss about lying down with his mate. Silly medic.

I have no such qualms. I snuggle up to Optimus' side, First Aid next to me and Groove across both of our frames. Thundercracker and Soundwave settle on Ratchet's other side, and Bluestreak crawls into the space between Optimus' legs and Ratchet, with Skywarp resting on his chest. It's a cuddlepile of epic proportions, and as the lights dim I'm almost content.

"We'll move up the bonding ceremony," Bluestreak murmurs in the dark. "It won't be as grand if we rush it, but we're not that grand anyway. And I want everyone there. I don't want to wait until after we come back from Earth."

"You're going to Earth?" I hadn't realized Skywarp and Bluestreak were coming too.

"Skywarp's trinemate will be on trial, as will his other trinemate's partner. There's nothing you could offer either of us to make us stay behind."

"Your company and assistance will be appreciated," Optimus says. I can feel the way his voice rumbles through my plating. "It will be a trying time."

No one seems to want to comment on that.

I'm almost asleep when someone speaks to me. "Hey, Cynosura?"

I lift my head enough to spot Thundercracker's dim red optics. "Yes?"

"Do you think we can win?"

"I don't know." I drop my head again and sigh. "I really don't know."

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Waking up this morning was so surreal. It reminded me of back on Earth when I stayed with the Aerialbots or the Protectobots, and spent my nights on someone's back. Except now I'm the same size as everyone else._

 _Well. Almost everyone._

 _At one point I ended up on top of Optimus. I don't know how, but I woke up with my face pressed against his windshield. I could feel his spark spinning. It was awesome._

 _So of course I started crying. That was embarrassing. I guess there's just something about the complete… acceptance, I guess, that he radiates. He's just got this vibe of caring for everyone, this grace about him. None of which really excuses me from bawling on his chest like a sparkling, but there you go._

 _Ratchet just laughed and said he should see it as practice. That of course led to a bunch of sparkling talk. Ratchet's very excited, I can tell, even with how worried he is about the trial. Skywarp was over the moon when he heard, and he pestered Optimus about it until Optimus opened his chest and let us look._

 _I wish I knew how to describe the way I felt when I saw that tiny spinning ball around his spark. Awe doesn't even begin to cover it._

 _Skywarp wants a sparkling, I can tell. Bluestreak does too, but he's got more of an 'in the future' kind of attitude about it. Soundwave was almost wistful as he stared. For that matter, Laserbeak was practically in Optimus' chest, cooing at it._

 _Everybody wants a sparkling. Pit,_ _ **I**_ _want a sparkling. I want a whole lap of sparklings._

 _Something to discuss with Groove and First Aid when this whole ordeal is behind us._

 _I got a comm from Inferno earlier today too. Breakdown is doing well. He still hasn't come out of his room, but he talks to Red Alert through the door. That counts as progress. Inferno says they're handling him fine for now, and that he hasn't shown any indication of being aggressive._

 _I'm glad at least some of my clients are doing well, and aren't burdened by this whole Alliance thing. I won't have to worry for the Stunticons on that front._

 _Ultra Magnus commed me earlier too. He wants to set up a meeting to discuss what we can expect from the Earth's legal system, and since I am – was – human, I should be present. I told him that anything I know will be woefully out of date by now, but apparently some knowledge is better than none._

 _There's a lot to consider. We'll need to get a lawyer, I suppose. Maybe we should talk to Ameryn Clarke about representation and such. I know how regular courts work, but I've never seen a case in the International Criminal Court. Logically enough._

 _Optimus told me yesterday that I should focus on Star and Soundwave. He's probably right about that. I'm assuming they're bringing some other form of defense for Optimus. He can't hide behind coercion, or insanity. His defense is that he was basically defending everything from Megatron._

 _I really hope that is enough._

* * *

"Thank you for coming." Ultra Magnus looks at each of us in turn. "This will be the first of many planning sessions before departure. I hope we can come up with something useful."

Well, yeah. Hopefully. The alternative kind of sucks.

I look at the others around the table. Prowl looks all business, as usual, while Jazz is almost lounging by his side. Streetwise has a stack of datapads in front of him. Ratchet is scowling, which is becoming a default expression these days – I know it's a mask, to hide his worry. The same worry is clear on Thundercracker's face, but he looks calm despite it. Hook looks almost aloof.

Hopefully we're enough to come up with something good.

"Cynosura." Ultra Magnus' optics bore into mine. "You have previous experience with the Earth courts."

Of course he would start with me. "Yes. I've been an expert witness in several trials back on Earth."

"What can you tell us?"

Oh, like it's that easy. Lucky I came prepared. "I'm sending you all a brief summary of how the American justice system works. Please remember that the ICC may be different. I have no way of verifying this."

"We're working on that," Prowl says. "Mrs. Clarke has promised us an information package later this week."

Well, that's good. Then we won't be completely unprepared.

Hook glances at his datapad. "According to this there will be opening statements from the attorneys. Do we have one of those?"

"I'm not sure if we should get a human attorney or not," Prowl admits. "It could be advantageous."

"Or it could come back an' bite us in the aft," Jazz adds. "I still say we should bring a Cybertronian defense attorney."

Thundercracker looks doubtfully at him. "Do we _have_ a Cybertronian defense attorney?"

"Maybe." Prowl narrows his optics. "We're looking into some options."

"We should have both, if possible." Streetwise meets Prowl's gaze head-on. "It couldn't hurt."

"Or we should stick with a human." I shrug as they look at me. "Come on. We maybe have a Cybetronian defense attorney? As in there might be someone who maybe practiced that craft millions of years ago, and might remember some of it? Are you going to stack Optimus' life on that? Starscream's, Soundwave's?"

Prowl sighs. "You may be right. Still. Having both would be good."

"Then let's try for both," Ultra Magnus says, "and if that doesn't work, we'll go for a human."

"How are we handling the trial itself, anyway?" Thundercracker asks, looking from Ultra Magnus to Prowl. "Are we bringing witnesses?"

"We'll need to." Ultra Magnus frowns. "Unfortunately, we won't be able to bring near enough. If I had the option, I'd send enough witnesses to prove their innocence beyond all doubt. Unfortunately, since we're going to Earth and not the other way around, that's not possible."

I listen as they debate back and forth on who would be most advantageous to bring. They're trying to muster a defense for four million years of war. It's hard to even wrap my head around it.

"Cynosura, will Thundercracker's testimony be enough to prove that Starscream was coerced?" Ultra Magnus looks at me again. "Or will it be discredited because they're so close?"

"Usually, testimony from near family would be given a lot of weight. At least by the defense." I glance at Thundercracker. "The prosecutor will try to discredit you, though."

"Which is where Hook's written files and Ratchet's testimony will be critical," Prowl agrees. "To show the physical damages to Starscream and Soundwave, prove that they were being coerced."

I feel like a lightbulb is going off over my head. "Soundwave. Does he have any recordings we can use? I know his cassettes were monitoring everything."

"He may have." Ultra Magnus frowns. "I'm afraid they'll try to discredit that too, though. Since he would then technically be the source of his own defense material, they'd say he could have doctored it."

"Well, can we use his footage in Optimus' defense, then?" Ratchet asks, suddenly intent. "I bet he has hours and hours of spy footage."

"Maybe." Prowl writes something on his datapad. "I will ask him."

"Wait. What about Reflector?"

Prowl stares at me like my words make no sense.

"Reflector records too," I insist. "Just images, sure, but I bet they've got a bunch of them."

"That's a good idea." Ultra Magnus actually smiles. "Thank you, Cynosura."

Jazz leans forward, looks at me. "Ya's witnessed this kinda abuse trial before, sweetspark. What do we need t' do?"

"Prove that the abuse happened. That's critical." I pick up my datapad and fiddle with it, mainly to gather my thoughts. "There are two sides to this. One is to prove that Soundwave and Starscream were being emotionally, verbally and physically abused by Megatron. The other is to prove that because of this, they can't be held responsible for their actions. As far as I can remember, Earth tends to holds high-ranking military commanders responsible for their underlings' actions. We need to pin Starscream's and Soundwave's actions on Megatron." I look at Hook and Thundercracker. "Please tell me that whatever atrocities they committed can be pinned on him."

"For the latter part of the war, I believe so," Thundercracker says slowly. "By then Starscream had had any tendency to initiative beaten out of him. Soundwave was loyal, until Megatron damaged Buzzsaw. After that he was too scared for his cassettes."

"For the first part of the war it doesn't matter," Prowl supplies. "The war didn't spill out from Cybertron until later. The Alliance doesn't care about what we did to ourselves." There's a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"The earlier part of the war is well documented," Ratchet adds as Jazz reaches out to take Prowl's hand. "We'll need those records for Optimus' defense."

Ultra Magnus focuses on me again. "Cynosura, will Optimus being sparked make a difference in the trial?"

I sigh. "You're asking more than I can answer. It probably won't work against him, though I suspect the humans will have a hard time believing someone who considers themselves male can carry offspring. If you want to bring it up in court, you might have to be prepared to explain Cybertronian reproduction."

Hook glances at Ratchet. "Good luck with that."

"We'll have to consider whether that's something we want to be public knowledge on Earth." Ultra Magnus sighs. "I'm not sure it is."

Prowl puts his datapad down. "Let's start in one end. Proving Starscream's abuse. Cynosura, what do we need to do that?"

I'm on firmer ground here. This part I've been through before. "Medical records, if there are any. On Earth, it would be x-rays, doctors' statements, transcripts from 911 calls, that sort of thing. Any surveillance, both video and audio and photographic. Statements from any other medical professionals. Witness statements."

"So, Ratchet." Jazz points at Ratchet, then at me. "You. Reflector. Thundercracker. Skywarp, maybe. Anyone else?"

"For Starscream? There were always plenty of witnesses," Thundercracker growls. "Megatron enjoyed making the punishments public. It probably won't hurt to put Skywarp on the stand. But for Soundwave…" He slumps a bit in his seat. "Soundwave kept everything very quiet. Everything was less public. Megatron enjoyed punishing Starscream, enjoyed discrediting him, but he didn't want anyone suspecting Soundwave. Soundwave was too good at keeping the united Decepticon front. So I don't know how many witnesses there are."

"I hate t' ask this, but…" Jazz is frowning behind that visor of his, I can tell. "The cassettes?"

"Sheltered. Soundwave kept as much as possible from them, I know, especially of what Megatron did to him. They would still notice." Thundercracker nods, but it's hesitant, like he doesn't really want to. "Ask them."

"There are medical records of Soundwave's abuse," Hook says. "I had to bury it deep, but I managed to keep it. Just in case."

"I have some too, from the check-ups after Megatron was… dispatched." Ratchet's smile is grim. "I have enough medical data to prove that he was abusing his entire army."

"That on top of Cynosura's testimony should be enough to prove that they were both abused and how," Ultra Magnus says, and I don't think I'm imagining the touch of hope in his voice. "How do we go about proving that the abuse was enough to coerce them to go along with whatever Megatron was planning?"

Oh boy. This is going to be a long meeting.

* * *

"You were dead on your feet when you walked in." First Aid pulls me closer. "Long meeting?"

"The longest." I relax against his chest. "You've been on duty all day. You're probably tired too."

"Well, yeah. But it was a slow day." He's rubbing one of my finials. It feels like heaven, like he's pulling my exhaustion out through the thin metal. "I didn't have to plan the defense of three people I care about and feel responsible for."

I can feel his spark spinning beneath his plating. It's very soothing. "Who would have thought I'd ever care about Soundwave?"

"You cared about Parker Jamieson. You cared about Mirage." First Aid's smiling, I can hear it. "Face it, love, if someone hurts you because they've been hurt, you will end up forgiving them. And you do have a wide protective streak."

Hmm. He's probably got me there.

"You'll tell me if there's anything I can help you out with?" He shifts on the berth until we fit together like a puzzle.

"This helps." I burrow as close as I can get. "Groove on the way home yet?"

"He'll be here shortly."

Good. We're still missing a puzzle piece.

I blame the discussions that have stormed around me all day. I'm too tired to be quiet, strange as that is. "I really don't want to leave you in a few weeks. Being away from you for that long again… It's going to be hell."

"Yeah." First Aid kisses the top of my head. "It will. For all of us. But we have something we didn't last time we were separated."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Groove." First Aid's hand moves to my shoulder blade, stroking along the whole edge. "The bond. Merge with him, and you'll feel me. Remember?"

Oh, thank all the powers. I'd forgotten about that.

"And speaking of…" First Aid is smiling again, and I can hear the front door closing. A few moments later, our missing puzzle piece slides in against my back.

"Hey, you," Groove purrs against my neck. "I'm going to guess you both need some cheering up."

I turn around to face him. First Aid follows, arm sliding around my waist. "Sparks?" he murmurs.

"Plugs?" Groove teases the cover on my waist.

"Both of them. All of it." I chase Groove's lips. "Make me forget my own name."

We only have a few weeks. I plan to make the most of them.


	18. Preparations

"So, do we hold hands and sing Kumbayah?" Sideswipe is smirking at me.

Granted, the circle of cushions on the floor might give that association. And the gelled, crusted energon that looks a bit like cookies. But I wish the purpose of this meeting was that benign.

"If it makes you feel better," I smirk right back. "Want to lead us?"

Runabout chortles. "I like her. She's keeping you on your toes, Autobot."

"Only because I let her," Sideswipe replies loftily. Sunstreaker snorts.

This is going to be interesting.

I look at Ironhide and Kup, seated at strategic intervals around the circle. None of them look worried yet.

The yet is a key word in this scenario.

"What's going on, anyway?" Cliffjumper looks at me. "What was so important that I had to leave my post?"

Curse Ironhide for convincing me to lead this. I don't know half these bots.

Having Sideswipe and Sunstreaker here is reassuring. Hot Rod and Springer as well. But Runabout and Runamuck are wild cards, I don't know Kup at all, and these five Neutrals that suddenly showed up… I don't even know their names. Kup just called them Technobots.

I guess I'll find out.

"There's been a development," I begin. "And before we say anything further, be aware that what you learn here will not go beyond this room."

"Or what?" Runamuck, of course, and he's leering at me.

"Or ya'll be right back in the cell we plucked ya from," Ironhide grumbles, leaning imperceptibly closer to the white twin. "Behave, and ya'll get the chance to actually do something useful."

"We'll stay quiet," one of the new mechs say. "What's going on?"

I sigh and straighten my back. There's no way to soften this. "At this moment, there's an Intergalactic Alliance battle ship in deep orbit around Cybertron. They're here because they've charged Optimus Prime, Starscream and Soundwave, as the leaders of both factions during the war, with a series of war crimes."

This isn't news to all of them. Sideswipe is still and waiting, Sunstreaker's optics narrow slightly. Streetwise nods slowly. Hot Rod looks wild-eyed, though, and the Technobots are all muttering among themselves.

I let it sink in for another few moments before continuing. "Make no mistake, we are fighting them on this. There will be a trial, and we've gotten them to agree to an independent judge. That's what this is about." A deep breath. "We're going back to Earth. And we need a guard contingent."

Hot Rod stares at me. Then he's suddenly on his feet, whooping and grinning. "Earth! YES! I never got to see it last time! Is it true that the roads are smooth as silk?"

Cue one frown from Kup, one sigh from Ironhide, and one stifled laughter from Sideswipe, and Hot Rod seems to understand he's made an error. He sits back down, blushing fiercely. "I mean. It sucks that they're charging the Prime. And Soundwave and Starscream."

Kup is shaking his head. "We're talking later, lad."

"A guard contingent," one of the Technobots reply. "What does this trip entail, exactly?"

I look at Ironhide. He's been in different planning meetings than me and knows more about the actual trip, even though he's not actually going. "Want to answer that?"

"Sure. In a few weeks, a group of mecha's leavin' for Earth. Optimus Prime and Ratchet, Starscream, Soundwave and all the cassettes, Thundercracker and Skywarp, a few more. We don't expect any trouble from the humans, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't prepare for it. Which means bringing guards." He looks around the circle sternly. "Make no mistake. This ain't a holiday. It ain't a joyride. Ya'll need to stay alert the whole time."

"Each of you are here because you've been picked for this, or because you volunteered," I take over. "You're each wanted for this mission. That said, if you really don't want to go, you won't. We'll find someone else. We need mecha we can trust for this."

Hot Rod practically has stars in his optics.

"If you do want to accept this mission," I look at Runabout and Runamuck and the Technobots as I speak, "there will be training involved. There will be team exercises. We won't accept any infighting. You will leave any grudges behind. The goal of this mission is to keep the defendants and witnesses safe. That's what matters."

Cliffjumper nods. "If Starscream's going, I'm going. Sign me up for whatever's necessary."

"We're in," Sideswipe says, leaning against his twin nonchalantly. "But you knew that." Sunstreaker growls and pushes him away.

"Count me in, too." Hot Rod is practically bouncing on his pillow. "I'm ready."

The Technobots are huddled up, conferring amongst themselves. I can barely hear the hum of their voices. Runabout and Runamuck are staring at each other. I wonder if they have the same kind of twin bond as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker do.

"What kind of training?" Runamuck asks. I look at Ironhide.

"The kind every new recruit gets," Ironhide replies, looking almost smug. "Aptitude tests. Hand-to-hand and weapons training. Basic tactics and recon, mainly focused on defense. That kind of thing."

Matching grins bloom on the Decepticon twins' faces. They make me more than a little nervous. "We're in," they say in unison, and I suppress a shiver. Good thing I have a pair of Autobot twins to counter the Decepticon twins with.

From the looks on Sideswipe's and Sunstreaker's faces, they think so too.

The Technobots – I have got to learn these mechs' names – turn back towards the rest of us. The one I had pegged as their leader frowns. "We left Cybertron because we didn't want to be dragged into a pointless war. Now you ask us to defend what we left to avoid."

I shake my head. "No. We're asking you to protect mecha that are critical to the rebuilding process. Hopefully the most you'll have to do is stand around and look stern if anyone approaches." I look at each of them in turn – maybe it'll help get my meaning through. "I won't ask you to betray your principles. We need guards, not soldiers."

"We'll think on it." The leader looks at Ironhide. "Is it sufficient if we contact you tomorrow?"

"Sure." Ironhide stands up, tugging Hot Rod along with him. "Ya got my comm. I'll be in the training center, whipping this one into shape."

"Hey!" Hot Rod protests, and I wince in sympathy. Hopefully Roddy's got more basic training than I did when I started, so he can keep up.

Ironhide looks at the twins. Both pairs. "Sides, Sunny, you two, you coming?"

"Hell yeah." Runabout's smirk is a slow-blooming thing, and Sunstreaker bristles. "This could be interesting."

Kup chuckles. "Guess I better tag along to make sure no one gets hurt." He waves at me. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Not that we actually did much meeting.

The Technobots apparently take it as a dismissal, because they start filing out as well. Soon it's just Springer, Streetwise, Cliffjumper and me.

"I'll need to get back to the prison," Springer says. He's frowning slightly, not looking at me. "I know I would be an asset on this, but I'm not sure I can go. Razorclaw's nowhere near ready to take over managing the prison, and we still have mecha in there who are nowhere near ready for alternate arrangements."

I kind of figured that would happen. It wasn't likely that we would get everyone we wanted. "I understand. Let us know if you think of anyone that can replace you on the trip, will you?"

"Will do." And then he's gone too.

I turn to Cliffjumper. "Are you going back out to Starscream?"

"Yes." No hesitation, no suspicion. I'm glad. "That's where I belong right now. He's doing better." A smile flashes across Cliffjumper's face, there and gone again in a second. "Thanks for that."

I'm not going to say 'it was my pleasure', because it really wasn't. And he knows that too. "I'm glad he's healing. I need to talk to him, mind if I join you?"

Cliffjumper looks surprised for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, okay. Let me just comm ahead so I know how his mood is."

Cliffjumper turns away to access his comm, and I focus on Streetwise. "So what do you think?"

He smiles a bit. It's small and soft and familiar. "I have to admit, I'm a bit worried about the whole thing. But I think the guard contingent will work out. There is something about those Technobots I can't put my finger on, though, wish I knew what it was."

"Hopefully nothing." It comes out as more of a suggestion than a certainty, unfortunately, but Streetwise doesn't comment on that. "Maybe they'll tell us."

"Maybe." That small smile again. "I have to go. We're training a Neutral to take my place while I'm on Earth, and Prowl's getting impatient."

"You mean Jazz is getting impatient and Prowl has to handle it," I counter, winking at him. "Go on, get out of here."

Cliffjiumper nods at me as Streetwise leaves. "Acid Storm says he's ranting at an experiment, which means it's a good day to interrupt. Skywarp and Thundercracker are on their way out there, though, I hope that's no problem."

I shake my head. "I was going to comm them if they weren't there. It's good that they're a bit ahead of me."

"All right." Cliffjumper steps aside, gestures for me to walk ahead of him. "Come on then. Let's go see him."

* * *

I'm very familiar with Starscream's jail-come-apartment now. It seems less despondent than it did the first time I was out here. There are fewer locked doors, fewer alert guards when I follow Cliffjumper inside. It even seems like there are fewer camera views on the monitors.

Cliffjumper notices me looking. "He's doing so much better," he says softly. "We decided we could give him some privacy. We're not watching every move he makes anymore." He winks. "Except if he spends more than two hours in the wash racks. Then we activate the camera again." He looks at the monitor in front of Ion Storm, where twenty small images are showing Starscream's apartment from almost every angle.

"I'm glad he's doing better." I can see a flash of white pacing in the corner of one of the small images.

"It's night and day." Cliffjumper full-on smiles. "He doesn't even throw that much stuff anymore."

Right on cue, something smashes into the large one-way window. Ion Storm winces. "Let me activate that so we can see him. He's probably ranting at Skyfire again."

A few keystrokes, and the dark window clears and brightens until we can see what's going on. At the same time, a tinny voice comes from the speaker on the wall.

"… solution would be, don't you? More of the same! Gah!" Inside the room, Starscream throws his hands up. "Even Megatron knew we couldn't mess with the sources. Slagging drillers."

"Throwing the samples into the wall won't help us much either." Skyfire's reproach is mild.

Starscream waves a hand dismissively. "It helps _me_. That's good enough. Do we have enough barium to rerun the test?"

Skyfire checks something on a datapad. "Barely. And only if you don't throw the container onto the wall again."

Starscream's grin is wicked. "Then I'll do my best to restrain myself."

Holy crap. He's _so much better_. I know I'm staring, but I can't stop.

"It's relieving, isn't it?" a voice says from behind me. I turn to see Thundercracker smiling slightly as he watches the scene unfolding inside the apartment. "I haven't seen Star in a mood like this in millions of years."

And I'm here to wreck it. Slag.

Something must have shown on my face, because Thundercracker puts a hand on my arm. "None of that now. You didn't send the Alliance slaggers here. You didn't decide what they would do." He nods towards Starscream, now happily measuring something at his desk and pouring it into a cube. "It's better that we give him enough time to prepare himself. He can come to terms with this if we let him have the chance, but it requires that we don't spring it on him as a last minute surprise."

Skywarp walks up to stand at Thundercracker's elbow, watching the two mecha in the apartment. "Star's been through so much slag already. He's doing really good. Skyfire checked his coding patches first thing today, and everything's integrating much faster than expected. Star _wants_ to get better."

Thundercracker looks at me. "Are you ready?"

I shake my head. "Not by a long shot. But we have to do this." I glance at the window. "Should we let them finish up?" Not that I have any way of knowing when they're finished. They're still talking about what they're doing, but the only words that make sense to me are the 'let's' and the 'and' and the 'results'.

"We'll go in," Thundercracker decides. "Tell Star we're here. Then we can sit down and wait for them to finish up."

Skywarp nods, a faint grin on his face. "Less chance of Star getting distracted that way. And hopefully he won't throw something at us this time."

"He won't throw anything as long as we walk in through the front door like sane mecha," Thundercracker points out. "Not teleport in there while he's experimenting with volatile liquids and appear right behind him like a crazy person."

Skywarp winks at me. "That was a ton of fun though. Even with me having to clean out my vents with a brush to get it all off. He hasn't screeched like that in ages."

These mechs really are very much like brothers.

Cliffjumper takes over monitor duty from Ion Storm, and I follow the two seekers through the guard room and out the door. Everything is much more relaxed – the guns are out of sight, and Acid Storm and Nova Storm are both napping on a couch. I'm wondering if the door to Starscream's apartment is even locked.

Turns out it isn't.

"He hasn't tried to leave," Thundercracker murmurs. "He hasn't even tried the door. And we still keep a watch on him all the time. But even if he left, where would he go? He's disarmed, and he doesn't know the new settlement at all. He can flee, but he has nowhere to flee to."

"Plus, we keep him pretty happy in there," Skywarp adds. "I don't think he even wants to leave."

I follow Thundercracker inside. Starscream and Skyfire are still discussing their experiment, and Starscream's chuckling at something. Skyfire's tone is gently teasing.

Skywarp's optics are shining.

"Hey, Star," Thundercracker calls.

Starscream looks up, then dismisses him with a gesture. "Oh, it's you. Sit down somewhere, I don't have time for you yet."

I didn't think Skywarp's grin could get any wider. Apparently, I was wrong.

I sit down where Starscream can see me easily, but don't greet him yet. I'm perfectly happy to wait until they're done. Honestly, I'm not looking forward to this at all.

Curse Prowl and Ultra Magnus for deciding I should be the one to explain what's going on to everyone. I'm a therapist, not anyone's superior officer. This isn't my job.

Thundercracker is calm next to me. I try to let it rub off on me. Not that it helps much – I'm still a ball of nerves when Starscream finally puts his experiment away and comes to sit next to Skywarp on the other sofa.

His sharp optics meet mine. "So, you look like someone stomped on your favorite petrorabbit. What's up?"

Petrorabbit?

Maybe I should ask Hound.

"We have some bad news," Thundercracker says frankly, before I have the chance to open my mouth. "The Intergalactic Alliance is here."

Starscream swears colorfully and at length, and I'm actually a bit impressed. Ratchet could learn a thing or two. "Those slaggers. What do they want? We don't owe them anything."

"They seems to think we owe them a trial." Skywarp doesn't sound very concerned, and he doesn't look it either, with the way he's lounging back on the sofa with his feet curled up in the seat.

Starscream stares suspiciously at him for a moment. I can tell the exact moment when he realizes what Skywarp is talking about – his optics widen, his face almost paling, and if he'd been armed I'm sure his guns would have been powering up.

I've seen this exact response before. On Sunstreaker. Prowl. Ironhide. Blades. Even Silverbolt.

"The Alliance wanted to charge Optimus Prime and Megatron with a series of war crimes." I try to keep my voice soft and calm. The part of me that's not nervous about this discussion is noting how Starscream doesn't flinch at Megatron's name. He's really made a lot of progress, a lot of it by himself. Skywarp is right, Starscream wants to get better. "In lieu of Megatron, they've decided to charge you and Soundwave."

Starscream is suddenly up and pacing. If he'd been any other mech, I'm sure he would be wringing his hands.

Best get this all out at once.

"In three weeks, we'll be leaving for Earth." Starscream does flinch at that. "The humans have agreed to act as independent judges. We're putting together a team of witnesses and guards to travel with us."

"Witnesses?" Starscream's voice is almost calm, quiet, which apparently worries his trinemates as much as it worries me. Behind Starscream, Skyfire's frowning. "To witness what? The war happened. The atrocities happened. We're guilty."

"Megatron was guilty," I correct. "Star, I have every intention to prove that you and Soundwave acted under duress and cannot be held accountable."

Starscream stops and stares at me. "How?"

I'm not sure how much of my plans I want to reveal to him. How much will make this more acceptable, and how much will be too much. But I have to reveal something. Frag. "By treating this as an abuse case. Humans have a history of blaming the commanders for the soldiers' actions, which is right, but they also have a well-established principle that says you can't be held accountable if you acted under extreme duress or fear for your life. Or the lives of those you care about." I meet Starscream's stare head-on.

There's no doubt in my mind that Starscream was throwing himself between Megatron and his trine, his seekers, his people whenever it was necessary. Granted, some of the time he was probably guilty of whatever Megatron accused him of – not that he deserved being beaten and raped for any of it. But considering how much more damage Ratchet has found on Starscream compared to any of the others… The mech was offering himself as a shield for someone. Probably a whole lot of someones.

"Does Prime agree with this?" His voice is still quiet, subdued, and I see Skywarp physically stopping himself from getting up and going to him.

"Prime, Prowl, Ultra Magnus, Ratchet, Hook… Everyone. Everyone agrees." I need Starscream to see he has support in this.

"What… What will I need to do?" Starscream wraps his arms around himself, and Skywarp clearly can't stop himself any longer. He's off the couch and plastered up against Starscream's back between one vent and the next.

"Come to Earth with us, for starters." I watch as Thundercracker gets up as well, planting himself against Starscream's other side. I stay seated. This isn't for me. "Help me prepare a defense for you. Drum up any witnesses we might not know about. Cooperate. On Earth, you'll have to testify."

"We're not letting you do this alone," Thundercracker murmurs. "We're coming with you."

"Do you need a few moments?" I ask, because I have to. Starscream's never given any indication that he needs time before – I'm sure he sees it as a weakness – but this is a lot to throw on a mech who recently had his coding rewritten. He's still recovering, and this can't be easy to handle.

But Starscream stays true to form. He presses up against his trinemates for a moment before pulling himself loose and sitting down. "No. I'm fine. Who else is going?"

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Starscream is one impressive mech. I can see why Megatron wanted him on his side. He's got so much will, so much strength, and he's both clever and intelligent._

 _And Megatron must have been an epic idiot to throw all that away._

 _It took hours to talk through everything. Starscream wanted to know it all – who was going, how the humans were handling it, every detail of the charges, who was handling what in our absence. He never let up, not until I left._

 _I'm fairly sure he collapsed into Skywarp's and Thundercracker's arms the moment I was out the door, though._

 _There's so much to do in three weeks. I need to take more time with Sunstreaker. Work as much as I can with Breakdown and Dead End before we leave. Check in with the rest of the Stunticons. Do a psych eval of Runabout and Runamuck, so we're prepared for whatever they throw at us. Work with Soundwave and Starscream, make sure they can handle the pressure of testifying._

 _Pit, work with a whole lot of them to make sure they can handle the pressure of a three-week shuttle flight in close quarters with members of the opposite faction. For some of them, that might be a tall order._

 _Fuck the Intergalactic Alliance. We were doing so well. I wish I could keelhaul the lot of them._


	19. Bonding

Sunstreaker runs the soft cloth over my back one last time. "There. You're perfect. Not a blemish anywhere."

"Thanks." I twist in a vain attempt to see my own back. It's probably just as good that I can't, I'd have been blinded by it. Sunstreaker's got me polished to almost a mirror shine.

Sideswipe sticks his head in, looks at me appreciatively. "Nice. Want to come out here, check these two over? You're pickier than me."

Sunstreaker leaves me with a final warning glance and a "Stand still for five minutes more, Isobel, I don't have time to redo the finish if you move before it's dry", and follows Sideswipe into the living room. After a moment, I dare to shuffle around carefully until I can look at myself in the wash rack full-length mirror.

Holy crap.

I'm going to damage someone's optics with this shine. Sunstreaker didn't spare any effort. The white is crisp and shiny, almost light-like, and the green is dark and lustrous. The gold details accentuate everything perfectly.

I've never looked this good, as a bot or a human.

Five minutes pass slowly, but eventually I can walk out into the living room. Sideswipe is as gleaming and perfect as I am, Sunstreaker made sure of that before they even got here. The artist himself is on his knees, working on First Aid's legs. Groove is already standing still as a statue and almost as shiny over by the window.

"Thanks for doing this, Sunstreaker."

He turns his head and flashes me a smile. "Sure. Can't have you looking less than your best for baby Blue's big day."

Bluestreak and Skywarp managed to speed up their bonding ceremony. It's not going to be a small affair, considering they've both invited everybody they know, but it will apparently be much more casual than such affairs usually are.

Well. Somewhat more casual. Optimus still insisted on making it fairly grand, in honor of the first cross-faction bonding since the end of the war. It's kind of a big deal to him.

I guess it's kind of a big deal to everybody.

Soon it's First Aid's turn to stand still as a statue, and Groove carefully begins moving around. I triple-check my subspace for the gifts. Everything is still there, just like the last time I checked.

"Ready?" Sideswipe says finally, when Sunstreaker allows First Aid to move again. "We should get going if we want to be on time."

The ceremony itself is held across the settlement, in a large space that apparently used to be a warehouse of sorts before the Constructicons leveled it and turned it into some form of open-air theater. And Sideswipe is right, we're running later than I'd like.

"Okay." Sunstreaker glares at each of us in turn. "Anyone get their finish scratched, don't expect me to fix it."

We run into Hound and Mirage and Dead End in the hall, all polished to the same expert shine as we are. Sunstreaker's optics rove over Dead End's frame appreciatively, and I pretend not to see the way Sideswipe's grinning.

Not my business. Though I'm glad they're doing better.

It's quite the procession of shiny vehicles heading out towards the edge of the settlement. I'm next to Groove, with First Aid in front of us. Sunstreaker's behind us, Sideswipe behind him, then our three neighbors. Behind them, we've somehow picked up the Constructicons. It feels almost like a parade, one without any spectators.

By the time we get to the venue, we've been joined by Prowl and Jazz, Ironhide and Chromia, and Arcee's bringing up the rear. And still the place is crowded when we get there.

I glance at First Aid. ::Did they invite _everybody?_ ::

::Looks like it,:: he replies. ::Hold on, there's Ratchet.::

Thankfully, it's not as full once we get past the two buildings that function as gates. It seems everyone's holding back, not wanting to go close to the stage at the far end of the field. As soon as we get through the initial throng, making our way to where Ratchet is standing is relatively easy.

"Hi." He smiles at me, nodding at my finish. "Shiny."

"Sunstreaker." I move to stand next to him. "Optimus ready?"

"He's so excited I don't think he can stand still." Ratchet chuckles. "I had to leave. It was making me a little woozy to watch him spin in circles like that."

Sideswipe laughs from behind me. "Sounds like Prime."

By unspoken agreement, no one mentions the upcoming trial. Not today. Today, we're all willfully ignorant of the fact and determined to enjoy the first wedding on Cybertron in millennia.

The field is filling up, the pressure of mecha moving away from the gate. A glance at the chronometer tells me that it's almost time.

"I'm kind of nervous, does that make any sense?"

First Aid leans forward and rests his head on my shoulder. "Yeah. It's exciting."

Suddenly there's a loud boom from overhead. It's a testament to how long the peace has lasted that there's only one or two screams. I look up to see Thundercracker banking into a turn before coming over the field again, another sonic boom marking his passage directly overhead. One more turn, and he lands at the edge of the stage.

Groove looks at me as I laugh. "What's funny?"

"Nothing. It's just, on Earth it would have been church bells. Here, it's sonic booms."

He grins. "I guess it's a personal touch."

Optimus walks up on the stage, smiling and waving at the handful of cheers that go up. On the opposite side of Thundercracker, Prowl climbs the stage.

It's time.

I watch as Bluestreak walks onto the stage. He's been detailed to perfection – I think I can recognize Sunstreaker's touch from here – but his plating pales in comparison to the radiant look on his face. I've never seen Bluestreak this happy.

Skywarp comes in from above. He's descending in root mode, and I can see his grin from here.

I lean towards Sunstreaker, making sure to keep my voice low. "Did you detail Skywarp as well?" The shine is unmistakable.

He nods. "For Bluestreak. He asked."

That's a huge step forward for Sunstreaker. I reach out and squeeze his hand. "You did amazing."

The smile he flashes me is all Sunstreaker-as-he-was. It's heartwarming to see.

Optimus begins speaking. I lean against First Aid and Groove as I listen. It's all words about devotion, love in the face of diversity, how we're stronger together than we are apart. All the while, Bluestreak and Skywarp stand facing each other in front of him, holding hands and smiling bright enough to light up the world.

It's beautiful. I can feel the tears forming.

Optimus places his hand on top of Skywarp's and Bluestreak's intertwined fingers. "How can we not be inspired by such love? How can we have doubts in the face of what these two clearly feel for each other? I am humbled and awed by them. And thus, it is with great pleasure and true happiness that I declare Skywarp and Bluestreak to be one. One spark, forever. One love, forever." He steps back. "Go before Primus and his people, and be joined together in spark and spirit."

I hear Skywarp laughing as he grabs Bluestreak and spins him around before kissing him. They're still intertwined as he suddenly lifts them off the ground and soars upward until they're far enough away that I can't tell them apart.

"Where are they – huh?"

Ratchet laughs at me. "It was tradition in Vos that seekers bond in the air."

My voice is a squeak and I can't help it. "They're going to spark-bond up there?"

Thundercracker takes off as well, keeping his distance from the pair but hovering just as high. There's a rumble of big engines, and I turn to see Skyfire taking off as well, root mode hovering upwards. In front of him…

Starscream.

He made it. He might not be mingling, but he's here for his trinemate's bonding ceremony.

I'm definitely crying now.

Above us, Bluestreak and Skywarp are eclipsed in bright blue light. The crowd goes wild with cheers, and I realize I just witnessed a spark-merge in mid-air.

Ratchet hands us each a ball. It's about fist-sized, very light, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with it.

"It's a hovering lantern," he explains. "Another old Vos tradition. If you press the button underneath, it starts a chemical reaction."

It seems he's not the only one passing out lanterns. A steady supply of them rises towards the sky. I push the button on mine, and it immediately lights up with a soft glow and begins rising up out of my hands. It looks really pretty.

Bluestreak and Skywarp aren't coming back down. Starscream and Thundercracker are both flying closer until all four of them are in a huddle.

Around us, the crowd begins to move.

I turn to Ratchet. "What now?"

"Now we head to the reception area." He pushes at my shoulder to turn me around. It's probably easier to push me than to try to explain, especially since it seems people are moving in every direction. "I know there will be fewer mecha there than here, and Bluestreak told me they'd ordered refreshments from that little café on the square. Come on." He takes me by the elbow, and I reach out to snag First Aid's hand. Groove hovers behind me.

We leave Mirage, Hound and Dead End, and the Constructicons. Jazz is nowhere to be seen, probably because he's gone off to join Prowl. Most of the mecha surrounding us seem to be headed back the way we came in, but a few angle off towards the right. The same direction that Ratchet is tugging me.

We head through an open doorway, and end up in a large warehouse. It's decorated with strings of lights in the ceiling and more glowing lanterns attached to the walls. Along one of the walls there's a long bar covered in plates of treats and cubes of flavored energon. A pair of diminutive mostly white bots are darting around behind it, putting finishing touches on the display.

We hover for a few minutes, with Sideswipe staring at the treats display in fascination, before Optimus walks in. He climbs a dais I hadn't noticed in the other end of the room and raises his hands.

"Friends." I can tell he's smiling. "My friends. Settle down, please. I promise you'll be fed soon enough."

A smattering of chuckles greet his words.

"Don't worry, you won't have to look at me for long. I just need your attention for a moment." He turns sideways and gestures to the back of the dais. "May I present the bonded couple: Skywarp and Bluestreak!"

The cheers are just as loud as outside, even though there are far fewer mecha here. Both Bluestreak and Skywarp are smiling widely as they wave back. They don't seem to be able to let go of each other. Whenever Skywarp turns, Bluestreak follows, and vice versa.

I lean towards Ratchet. "Is that normal? That they seem to almost be orbiting around each other?"

"Yeah." My comm pings with an incoming information packet. "It's all there. Basically, their sparks are getting used to being separate again. For the next few weeks, they'll need to merge frequently as the bond settles. They won't be able to be apart for long." He chuckles. "I wouldn't expect to see them out in public until we leave, to be honest. And even after that, they're going to be insufferable for a good long while. Exactly how long will vary from couple to couple."

"Is that so?" I grin back at him. "How long did it take for you and Optimus?"

His smile turns wicked. "It was a solid fortnight before anyone on the council could stand being in the same room with either of us. Another three weeks before we were back to normal." His optics seek out his mate, still standing on the dais and talking to Thundercracker and Prowl. "We still flash back to that sometimes. Especially now that he's carrying."

I take a deliberate step backward. "Tell me if I should run for the hills."

"Brat." He shoulder-checks me. "We're not that exhibitionist."

"Just somewhat," Sideswipe chimes in. I wasn't aware he was close enough to hear us still. "But you probably aren't that bad. I remember when Jazz and Prowl bonded. That was… interesting."

"You couldn't open a door without checking with Red if the cameras on the other side were functional first," Sunstreaker grumbles. "Prowl and Jazz must have fragged against every surface on base."

"Red kept glitching at the time, I remember," Ratchet agreed. "He did not appreciate Jazz tampering with his cameras like that. At least they managed to keep it to base." He winks. "Not everyone does."

I wonder how First Aid, Groove and I will be when we bond. I don't think either of my Protectobots are that fond of public fragging.

Then again, there was that time by the pond. And we've had a few interesting moments in First Aid's alt mode, back when I was human.

Maybe I shouldn't be quite that quick to dismiss the idea.

On the dais, Bluestreak and Skywarp step forward. They don't really have to call for attention, everyone simply goes quiet.

"Friends," Bluestreak says, sounding about as happy as he looks. "Thank you so much for coming to share this occasion with us. I'm so amazingly happy right now, I don't think you can believe it." I chuckle along with everyone else as he rests his head against Skywarp's shoulder.

"I believe it," Skywarp says, a cheeky grin on his face. "I can feel it right here." He touches his cockpit. "I'm so incredibly lucky. I've never known anyone like Blue, I never thought I would deserve anyone like Blue, and yet here he is." A black hand tenderly cradles Bluestreak's cheek, and I swear I can feel my spark swelling in my chest. I'm not the only one who has to wipe away a tear or two.

"I'm so grateful and amazed that I get to call you mine, that I get to keep you for the rest of my days," Skywarp continues, still focused on his mate. "It's everything I could have ever wanted. I love you, Blue."

Cue a chorus of 'awww' as he kisses Bluestreak. I lean against Groove's supporting presence on my back.

"They're so cute," I whisper.

"Perfect together." Ratchet's voice is gruffer than usual, and I pretend not to notice how shiny his optics are. "I never saw them coming, but damn, they're good together."

"Anyway," Bluestreak says, when he finally manages to turn away from his mate. "I hope you enjoy the party. Try the treats. We're so grateful to Swerve for taking the time to set this up." The minibot with more red on him than blue gives Bluestreak a smile and a salute. Skywarp salutes back, grinning. "With that, there's not much else to say, I guess." Bluestreak beams up at his mate. "I love you, Skywarp."

Then they're kissing again, and I'm wiping away tears again, and for a brief time there's no Alliance and no trial and no problems. There's just here and now.

* * *

We walk around the room, First Aid's arm around my waist and Groove's hand in mine. It feels normal to walk like this, safe between them. Every now and then cheers go up around us as Bluestreak and Skywarp do something cute on the dais.

At some point in the future, that will be us. I can't wait.

I know most of the mecha here. There are fewer Decepticons than Autobots, but Blast Off is sitting near the dais with Smokescreen and Blaster, and Arcee's talking to Ion Storm, with Nova Storm hovering behind them.

I'm starting to think that it doesn't matter who's an Autobot and who's a Decepticon. These mecha are well on their way to full integration.

Thundercracker steps in front of us. "Hello, Cynosura. First Aid, Groove." He smiles, and it might be the first truly happy expression I've seen on his face in a good long time. "Cynosura, I wondered if I could borrow you for a minute?"

"Sure." I turn and plant a kiss on First Aid's cheek, then on Groove's. "I'll be right back."

Thundercracker offers his arm like a proper gentleman. It has me giggling. "Earth custom? Or do Cybertronians do this too?"

"Some rules of engagement are universal in the right meaning of the word," he replies, winking. "Ask Mirage when you have the time. He can tell you everything there is to know about genteel behavior before the war began." He leads us towards the corner behind the dais. I can barely see a large white shape back there. "I wanted to tell you how grateful we are," Thundercracker murmurs. "I'm sure Skywarp will tell you too. Thank you. Star being here… It's made all the difference."

"I'm not sure how much I am to thank for that." I make sure to keep my tone low. "He has a tremendous will. He wants to heal. He's here because he really wanted to be."

"You found the solution," Thundercracker argues. "You didn't give up on him. You're even working with him to prepare for the coming months." He puts his hand over mine. "We're grateful. Star… He's not used to anyone going the extra distance for him."

The white shape resolves into Skyfire, sitting on a lounge seat in the corner with a cube in his hand and a smile on his face. Starscream is seated on another lounge, and he's got this imperial look on his face as he surveys the scene. Surveys is the right word, too – Starscream looks regal, plating polished to a high sheen and one ankle tucked behind the other.

It's only when I look closer that the mask slips. That is becomes apparent that his hands are shaking ever so slightly. That one fang is pressing down on the lower lip, a nervous habit I've noticed in our sessions. That Cliffjumper is actually close enough that Star can probably feel his heat against his back, and that he seems to take comfort in it. That Skyfire's placed himself in a way that blocks Starscream from the rest of the room.

He's much better than I would've thought. But he's still not well. I'll need to take that into consideration when I plan for the trial.

"Star," Thundercracker calls softly. "Look who I found."

There's something about his phrase. I get the feeling that he actually brought me here because Starscream wanted it – he may not have asked, because Primus forbid Starscream ever ask for what he wants, it's either demands or nothing – but he wanted it. And now Thundercracker is giving Starscream an out, in case he's changed his mind.

Starscream really does have awesome trinemates.

"Hello, Cynosura." Skyfire's voice is gentle, his smile soft. "You look good."

"Thank you. I blame Sunstreaker." I wave a hand to indicate the intense shine I've been polished to. "He doesn't do anything by halves." I glance at Starscream and incline my head. "Winglord."

I'd never call him that during our sessions. But here, in public, giving him his rightful due doesn't hurt. And Starscream absorbs the deference like a sponge, smirking and preening.

"Congratulations on the bonding of your trinemate," I continue. "It is good to see him so happy."

For a moment, Starscream's expression softens. "He is very happy, isn't he? Thank you."

I know the thanks is for more than just the congratulations. I can't help smiling. "You're very welcome."

Thundercracker taps my hand in a call for attention. "I should get you back to your partners. My own is also searching for me." He nods to his trine leader. "Let me know when I'm needed, Star."

Starscream sneers, but Skyfire nods. "We'll call."

"He's not very comfortable here," Thundercracker murmurs as we walk away. "He was so happy that he got to participate in the bonding ritual, but this is a bit much for him. He flinches at every sudden sound."

With all the mecha here, I'm surprised Starscream has even lasted this long. "It's good he has Skyfire and Cliffjumper with him, then."

Thundercracker nods. "Skyfire volunteered to stay with him all evening. Without the two of them, I don't think Star would have been here, no matter how much he wants to." He turns us in a different direction, and suddenly we're face to face with my Protectobots.

Thundercracker is all charm as he relinquishes his hold on my arm. "Thanks for letting me borrow you, Cynosura. I'll see you later."

Groove stares after him as he walks away. "That one has more than a smattering of Towers manners."

"He did say something along those lines." I stare after the broad blue wingspan as Thundercracker walks away. "He also told me to talk to Mirage if I wanted to know more about pre-war manners."

"Mirage would know," First Aid agrees, taking my hand. "But honestly, love, it's not necessary knowledge. Not as long as Optimus refuses to reinstate the old class-divides and ceremonies. Common sense and basic decency will serve you just as well."

Groove sneaks his hand around my waist. "And on that note, should we go and see the happy couple? I think it's time we handed over the gifts."

The crowd is thickest around the dais, unsurprisingly. We brush shoulder-to-shoulder with Acid Storm and Jazz and Smokescreen and Ironhide as we push our way through until we can follow a large frame up the steps to the dais. I realize it's Blast Off as First Aid pulls me to a stop near the steps.

Skywarp and Bluestreak are seated together on a love seat of sorts, a padded, back-less affair with room for their wings. They're so close together that it looks like they've grown that way, with identical, brilliant smiles on their faces.

They're adorable.

Blast Off takes a knee in front of them. "I don't think I've ever been so proud of you," he says, and though his voice is soft it's still strong enough to be easily audible to where we're standing. "Either of you. You've come such a long way. I can barely recognize my two charges anymore."

"We owe a lot to you," Bluestreak says, his voice equally soft. "You know how much. I don't think I've ever said how thankful I am for that."

Somewhere between Earth and now, Bluestreak stopped rambling. I haven't noticed before.

"You don't have to say it. I see it in how you care for this one here." Blast Off pets Skywarp's cheek, a gesture born of intimate familiarity. "It makes me very happy to see."

Blast Off is another mecha with more silk and gentility in his manners than you'd expect. At one point, I'm going to ask Rewind for everyone's biography and just sit down and read for a few days.

"I took the liberty of having part of my present delivered to your home." Blast Off smiles as he reaches into his subspace. "I don't think you would have appreciated having to open it here. But this one is for now. As a mutual reminder of your promises to each other." He pulls out a big, flat box and places it on Skywarp's lap. Skywarp squeals, honest-to-god squeals, and lifts the lid off.

Inside, there are chains. Fine silver chains with interlinked rings in decorative patterns.

"Oh," Bluestreak breathes, staring at them in something close to awe. "One set for each of us? Will you help us put them on?"

"Oh, I think you can manage without me." Blast Off winks. "You have plenty of practice, after all."

Bluestreak blushes, for some reason. He turns sideways to give Skywarp access to his back.

 _Oh._ Wing ornaments.

Soon, the matching set adorns both wings and doorwings. It looks like some adaptations were made to fit both of them, but there's no doubt they're two halves of a pair. It's very fitting.

"Thank you." Skywarp stands and gives Blast Off a kiss on the cheek. "For all of it."

"I'm glad to see you two so happy," Blast Off says simply. "That makes it worth it for me."

As he stands to walk away, Groove tugs us closer. As soon as Skywarp notices me, I'm assaulted.

Well. Mock-assaulted. Trapped and covered by happy, shining seeker, to be more exact.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Skywarp whispers. "I was afraid it would never happen, but he's here, and he was happy, and you did that. _Thank you._ " He hugs me hard enough that my pedes lift off the ground briefly.

"Hey, mind the finish," Bluestreak laughs. "Sunstreaker did that."

"I don't mind," I manage to force out, though I do tap Skywarp's shoulder to get him to put me back down. "I'll be hug-scuffed any time. He'll have to grin and bear it."

True enough, my finish as far from as immaculate as it was when Skywarp finally lets me go. But that's okay. That grin on his face is worth it.

Bluestreak nuzzles his cheek as he sits back down. "Was that about Star?"

"Yeah." Skywarp sighs happily. "You know it."

"Then I owe her a hug too." Next thing I know, I have an armful of affectionate Bluestreak. He kisses my cheek. "Thanks, Isobel."

"I'm just glad it worked," I reply. I'm not sure what to do with all this gratitude. Yeah, I helped, but it's my job. And Ratchet did most of the actual fixing. Heck, Starscream himself is working harder on his recovery than I am.

First Aid squeezes my hand. I bet he can tell that I'm uncomfortable.

Groove can too, because he swoops in and saves me. "Congratulations." He grins at the pair of them. "Gotta say, you set a standard."

"Oh?" Skywarp's returning smile is wide and teasing. "Gonna try to follow it?"

Groove looks at me, my favorite soft smile on his face. "Eventually. When things calm down. In the meantime…" I take that as my cue, and access my subspace while he continues to speak. "We heard you still live with Thundercracker and Soundwave in the same apartment you've always had. The Constructicons told me that there were plans for constructing a new set of high-rises at the edge of town, and that an entire building will be dedicated to the Winglord's eyrie. This is for when you move there."

I take out one large package, then the other. First Aid and Groove take one each, and pass them to the happy couple.

"Across the street from my clinic, there's a weaver's workshop," I explain softly as Bluestreak begins to untie the ribbons around the long tube. "Her name is Threadweaver, and she does exquisite work. She was born a Neutral, and can't remember pre-war Cybertron, but her carrier does. And she had some image captures." I look at the almost open roll of fabric on Bluestreak's lap. "I hope she captured the likeness."

Bluestreak rolls out the thin fabric and gasps. Then he's off his feet, handing one corner to First Aid and the other to Groove directing them to stand just so, letting him see the whole artwork at once.

I can hear more soft gasps from beyond the dais as the piece unfurls to its full glory. Bluestreak drops to his knees in front of it.

"Praxus." His voice is reverent. Just off the dais, there's a soft keen that sound suspiciously like Prowl.

I nod, a bit superfluously. Anyone familiar with the city as it was would recognize Praxus in the simplistic lines, the striking contrasts. Bluestreak's hand hovers over the splash of color that is the Crystal Gardens.

"This is absolutely beautiful, guys." He sits there, jus staring at it. "I can't wait to actually hang it on the wall."

Groove nods to First Aid, and they begin rolling it up. Bluestreak's optics follow the motion, and down on the side of the dais Prowl looks almost pained.

Skywarp glances down at the tube in his lap. "I'm almost afraid to open mine now."

I kind of understand that. Skywarp's piece is of Vos, done in the same simplistic style as Bluestreak's Praxus, and probably just as heartbreaking to see for all the same reasons. "You don't have to." I lean forward and lower my voice. "To be honest, you might want to unveil it in a controlled setting. Where Starscream is a bit more prepared."

Skywarp looks grateful and a bit relieved. "Thank you. We'll do that."

Groove gives the rolled-up tapestry back to Bluestreak, who cradles it protectively as he sits back down. Skywarp immediately pulls him close.

From the side of the dais, Nova Storm steps forward. "Should I take them back to your apartment? They'll be safer there."

Bluestreak hesitates before nodding. "Thanks, Nova."

There's reverence in the way Nova Storm handles the two tubes. I can tell that both Bluestreak and Skywarp appreciates that. He stops on his way off the dais to reassure Prowl, getting a grateful smile for the effort.

Autobots and Decepticons. I can't see a single faction line enforced here. Maybe I have less to worry about when it comes to the flight to Earth than I'd thought.

We leave the dais, making room for the next mecha to bring gifts. Ironhide nods at us as we walk by. "Good gifts." His voice is rough as he pats me on the shoulder. "Well done, kid."

I let First Aid and Groove tug me away. At first I think we're moving in the direction of the bar, where Swerve and the other minibot, Tailgate, are kept on their toes serving everyone. But First Aid sidesteps to the right, pulls us to a stop near the wall, and then I'm suddenly sandwiched between them, First Aid at my back and Groove at my front and not an inch of room to spare between us.

First Aid lowers his head to nuzzle my neck. "Soon there'll be dancing," he murmurs. "Skywarp and Blue will lead the way, and then Optimus and Ratchet, Star and TC with their dance partners if they want to dance, and then anyone who wants to."

"The dancing will continue until late," Groove takes over, and I'm reminded that they're totally brothers with a bond that let them coordinate this sort of thing. "The bar will stay open, and everyone will be dancing and talking and enjoying themselves."

"We want to dance with you, love." First Aid's lips are soft against my neck cables, and all of a sudden I'm glad they're so close around me. It helps keeping me upright. "We want to dance, and have fun, and watch you have fun, and then we want to take you home…"

"… and worship every part of your body," Groove continues, optics boring into mine. "If you're opposed to any part of this plan, tell us."

Opposed? I feel like my struts and cables have melted. If I hadn't wanted to stay at least a few hours more, I'd have been towing them both out of here right now.

I lean in to catch Groove's lips. "Sounds like a plan."

As if on cue, a deep bass begins thrumming through the room. I can see Jazz, up on a different dais, the speakers in his frame clearly set to a volume everyone but him would be uncomfortable with.

The music changes, subtly, and Skywarp and Bluestreak appear over the crowd. Literally over it – Skywarp is using his thrusters again, Bluestreak held securely in his arms, matching wing ornaments glinting in the light.

I watch as they twirl, and am struck by a longing so intense that it almost knocks my knees out from under me.

I want that so bad it hurts.

I pull my Protectobots closer. "You better dance with me. You'll dance with me until I forget what's coming, until this is all that matters, and then you'll take me home and love me until I forget which planet I'm on. Okay?"

First Aid grins at me as the music changes again. "Deal. Come on, then."

I follow him eagerly, Groove still holding on to my other hand. It's awkward, dancing this stuck between two other mechs, but I wouldn't change any of it. I let them take control, try to just absorb their closeness and heat, and simply live in the moment.

A turn lets me see Blue and Skywarp again, holding each other tight and spinning in a slow circle.

I will have what they have. Alliance or no Alliance. I'm not going to let them stand in my way.

I move even closer to First Aid and Groove, and just feel.


	20. Sudden anticipated

First Aid kisses his way up my leg. He manipulates it gently, angling my knee so he can reach the tensile cables, nipping and sucking every inch. One finger delves into the transformation seam, teasing and dragging charge along its wake as his mouth finally descends on the gap between my thigh and my hip and _sucks_.

I can't keep quiet. I'm sure they can hear me upstairs, but I don't care.

Behind my back, sitting up against the wall, Groove licks up one of my finials and takes it into his mouth. He's suckling at the end, tongue doing all manners of sinful things to the sensitive metal. His hands are on my waist, sliding over my stomach, teasing up my chest, and I can feel how turned on he is through the cable plugged into me. It's all I can do to grab his wrists and hold on.

First Aid smirks at me as his tongue probes into my other hip. I can see the sparks dancing between our plating, the way his armor flares to release excess heat. He's burning hot against me.

When he plugs in as well, I overload. Loudly.

Not that that means they're done with me. Oh no. First Aid and Groove have this down to an art by now. The charge passes from one of them to the other through me, ratcheting my own charge up without ever offering something to hold on to, and if I weren't anchored between them I think I would have been floating. I'm barely aware of my limbs, they're weighed down and heavy and yet threatening to float away from the rest of me, and all I can see is the glow of First Aid's visor. All I can feel is the way they love me.

The charge volleys can't last. They never do. And when Groove overloads, sharply and loudly, he pulls the rest of us along. First Aid groans against my neck, and I'm panting hard with my cooling fans on full, and it still feels like I'll overheat.

"Sparks," Groove grinds out, and _yes, please, yes,_ I want their sparks. I need to feel them in me. I wait until First Aid has detached his plug with trembling hands before shifting sideways against Groove, until our chests form a small triangle and all our sparks can reach each other.

The light is blinding. For a moment, everything is perfect, suspended in the air, and I'm not me anymore, and they're not themselves either, we're IsobelCynosuraGrooveFirstAid, all part of this glorious whole that was never meant to come apart.

Yet come apart we do. First Aid collapses backward first, chest plating closing and hiding that beautiful spark from view. Another second and my own chest slides shut automatically, cutting off the green, vibrant light. Groove smiles gently at First Aid, then at me, as his chest finally closes. Everything is suddenly very dark.

First Aid tugs me against his chest, positioning me until I'm sheltered in his arms with my back towards his chest. Groove turns in front of me, pressing close enough that every part of me is in contact with some part of him. I wouldn't have it any other way.

We're not going to be able to have this much longer.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _It's weird how time speeds up_ _when you don't want it to. We're leaving in just a few days._

 _I'm still worried that not everything is ready. That the Stunticons will fall apart without regular treatment – and Smokescreen is far from ready for them yet. That Starscream won't be able to handle the flight, even though Skyfire's coming with us for the express reason to be Starscream's transport. That Sunstreaker will relapse in space, freak out about everything and try to tear himself apart._

 _That I won't be able to help any of them. To save any of them._

 _First Aid knows I'm worried, of course. He keeps trying to calm me down, but his ideas aren't really working. I can't seem to shut my mind off. Which sucks, because in a few more days I'll be leaving him behind. And I'm wasting the time I have with him being stressed and miserable._

 _I know the others aren't doing so well either. Ratchet has the shortest fuse I've ever seen – it got to the point where Hook kicked him out of medbay under threat of reformatting if he came back. It wouldn't normally have worked, but Prime turned his puppy-eyes on him and got him out of there. Ratchet has been glued to his mate's side ever since._

 _It's impossible to tell how Soundwave is doing. I'm using Thundercracker as a yardstick, and Thundercracker is stressed enough that every sudden motion spooks him. He's always tense, always looks like he's expecting something bad to jump out._

 _Starscream is, surprisingly, remarkably calm. I know I'm not the only one who's waiting for him to explode, but so far, he doesn't seem inclined to do so. Everyone but Cliffjumper and Skyfire walk on eggshells around him._

 _I hate this waiting. There's nothing more I can do, no more treatments I can offer or solutions I can plan. We've acted on everything we could. Not it's just a matter of letting the day come when we finally leave. It's not that far off._

 _Primus, I don't like this._

* * *

I watch as Astrotrain transforms down in the spot Wheeljack indicated for him. He rocks on his stabilizers for a moment before calming. "Okay. Do your worst."

Wheeljack's helm fins blink merrily as he moves. "Sure thing, mech! We'll have you fight-worthy in no time."

I lean closer to Prowl, next to me. "Is this really necessary?"

He purses his lips before nodding. "It's bad enough that I have to send all of you off. I'm not sending you away without knowing you have adequate means to defend yourself."

It's an approved plan. No mech will be a walking arsenal, the way it was during the war, but everyone will have some kind of inbuilt weaponry. Even me.

The shuttles are also fitted with upgraded shielding. Space isn't as empty as it looks from a distance, and it took one mention of that fact before Prowl mandated full shielding and weapons upgrading for both Astrotrain, Skyfire and Blitzwing.

Wheeljack is efficient, though. His hands are quick and thorough, mounting everything on Astrotrain's frame. Behind him, on the other side of the workshop, Hook and Scrapper are double-checking his work. We're taking no chances.

When Wheeljack finishes with Astrotrain, he motions me forward. I'm more than a little apprehensive about this. He's just outfitting me with a pair of blasters, even the Neutrals have that, but it feels very final. I'm not used to walking around armed. And I don't really have time to learn to master them. Jazz is taking me to the firing range after this, to make sure I at least know which end to aim, but there's no time for me to become more than passingly proficient.

Part of this feels familiar, though. Coming to Wheeljack for help, for upgrading. I remember doing so once before, except the weaponry wasn't integrated back then.

Back then, I was arming myself to defend against Decepticons. Now, a Decepticon gives me a smile as he steps aside for me, so I can be armed in case the humans decide to hurt me.

Not that we're really expecting trouble from the humans. They're too invested in this, got too much riding on it. Even Prowl's most dire calculations show small chances of the humans attacking. And even in scenarios where that kind of attack pans out, it's usually a rogue group, which means it's easy enough to fight back.

He's far more worried about the Intergalactic Alliance. And when Prowl's worried, the rest of us prepare.

"There ya go." Wheeljack tightens the last screw and lets go of my arm, watching as the panel transforms back automatically to hide the small weapon now nestled along my arm strut. "That should do it."

My arms feel heavier. They're not, really, considering the blasters Wheeljack fitted are small enough to disappear completely under my plating and my arms aren't exactly chunky to begin with. It's more a psychological weight.

I'm distracted as I thank Wheeljack and move aside, letting Scattershot step into my place. I finally learned the Technobots' names, learned to tell them apart. Discovered they have their own issues we should have worked on, just in time to not have time to work on them.

I guess no one came through the war completely unscathed.

* * *

First Aid kisses across my jaw, down the cables on my neck, sucking and licking. His hands are sliding over the plating of my waist, teasing as they go. I can feel every movement doubly, both on my plating and through the cables connecting us.

"You two are so fragging gorgeous together." Groove is practically purring behind us. "I should film this."

The idea is more intriguing than I'd thought it would be. I think I would like to watch this as well.

Hmm. Maybe I can.

"Can you transmit pictures through the bond?" The question turns into a moan as First Aid find a particularly sensitive spot. I arch into his hands.

First Aid chuckles and nips my neck cabling again. "Not in the way you think. But…" He looks up at me and winks, and damn but First Aid can look smoldering when he tries. It's good I'm already horizontal, or I'd be heading there in a hurry. "You can over comms."

On cue, an information packet appears in my comm queue. I don't really have the mental presence required to actually open it, not with First Aid mouthing me the way he does, but somehow I manage.

It's a series of images. Of us.

Quickly, I save them for later viewing. Something tells me they're going to be treasured.

And boy, do we look hot. We should definitely film this at some point.

* * *

"… and when it comes to the Stunticons, stay away from the ones in jail. Leave them to me. In fact, leave everyone in the prison to me. You need more training before you're ready to handle that." I spin on my heel, pace the other way. "Most of the more difficult clients are going with me to Earth, but you'll have your hands full anyway, I think."

Smokescreen looks up at me, shaking his head exasperatedly. "I do have this under control, you know."

"Ugh. I know." I dump into the closest chair, drop my head into my hands. The resulting clang is still strangely unfamiliar, but I'm getting used to it. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just…"

"You're nervous," Smokescreen finishes for me. "You're nervous and worried and scared and feel too responsible for everything going on and everyone involved, which means you're stressing out. It's fine. It's okay." He offers me a smile. "We'll be okay."

I give him a dirty look. "You're using what I taught you against me."

"Well, someone has to." He stands up and stretches. "Seriously, Cynosura. Cybertron managed without you for almost a vorn. And yes, things are much better with you, but we can survive you being gone for a bit. Especially since you're bringing," he holds up a hand and counts on his fingers, "no less than, let's see, two three four six and a flock of the worst off." He takes me by the shoulders and physically turns me toward the door. "Now, go on, get out of here. I know how your processor works, you won't be able to relax before you've checked on everyone and everything."

Smokescreen's not wrong. There are a million things I need to do before the launch. "Thanks, Smokey."

"No problem." He smiles and opens the door for me. "I'll come see you off, and you'll bring back some good news when you return, okay?"

"I'll do my best." We're all hoping for that outcome, after all.

* * *

"He's doing very well." Mirage offers me a smile. "I'm… actually happy to have him part of our household, which I had not expected."

"I'm glad he's fitting in well." Not that I'd had any doubt. For all that his gestalt as a whole is borderline insane, Dead End is by far the most functional. "Is he home?"

"No." Mirage glances at the window. "Hound took him out, wanted to introduce him to some mechs closer to his own age. For all their physical size and attitude, the Stunticons are very young." He flashes me another smile. "Making friends will be good for him."

Mirage seems happy. Ridiculously so, even. I can practically feel the weight falling off my shoulders at the sight. "That's true. Hey, Mirage?" I wait for him to turn back to me. "In your opinion, how close is Dead End to a functional reintegration with society?"

"Honestly?" There's a soft smile on Mirage's face. "I think all he needed was a chance to be away from the more unstable elements of his team. He's still fatalistic, but not quite as excessively so as he was." He chuckles. "You should see him playing vidscreen games. He's such a child, it's adorable."

Oh. Oh ho.

Looks like having a youngster in his home has made Mirage positively broody. Maybe I should expect more sparklings when I come back.

* * *

Breakdown is harder to get a handle on. Inferno gives me an apologetic look as we stand outside the locked door.

"He doesn't come out often. I'll ask, though." He knocks on the door. "Hey, Breakdown? It's Inferno."

The comm system on the wall hums to life. "You're not alone."

"No, I'm not." Inferno looks apologetically at me again. "Cynosura's here with me. The one who brought you to live here, do you remember?"

"The psychologist," Breakdown replies. "I remember." His voice turns guarded. "I don't want to talk to you."

"That's fine." I hadn't expected anything else, really. "Inferno's told me that you're doing well, I'm glad to hear that. I came to tell you that Dead End is doing well, too, so if you want to get together with him, your guardians can set it up."

There's silence for a moment. The comm is active, though, so I try to be patient. "…okay," Breakdown says finally. "He's safe?"

"Safe and happy," I confirm. "Playing games and making friends."

There's a noise from the comm that sounds almost like a snort. Inferno stares at me in surprise.

"I'm not surprised," Breakdown says, and yes, he sounds less stressed than he did. "He's so shiny."

Shiny?

I'm definitely going to encourage Red Alert and Inferno to let these two hang out. Breakdown already trusts Dead End, for a certain measure of trust anyway. It would be a good way to coax Breakdown out of hiding.

Inferno sighs as we walk away. "I'm sorry we haven't made more progress with him. I'd hoped, once he was comfortable…"

"I'm going to stop you right there." I shake my head, smiling at him. "He's doing better. A lot better, actually. This is a hard case. And for him to be comfortable enough to talk to me, to discuss his gestalt brother like that? Even asking questions? Trust me. You're doing great."

Inferno's smile is one I'll take with me as I go to Earth. I'm glad at least these two Stunticons are doing well.

* * *

Jazz is the one to open the door for me. He looks relaxed, happy, but I know no one can act like Jazz.

"Hey, sweetspark." He smiles at me. "Come on in."

I haven't even closed the door behind me properly before he's got his arms around me. In this form, he's actually a little shorter than me. It's not much, but it's just enough to make it difficult to rest my head on his shoulder. I can feel the thrum of his spark against my plating. "Hi, Jazz."

He doesn't reply, simply secures his arms around my waist and tugs to make me follow. I don't fight it. I know what he's got planned, and it sounds like just what I need tonight.

Sure enough, there's a couch, and Prowl's already sitting on it. He opens his arms for me, and Jazz pushes me into them, and then I'm sandwiched between them again. It feels like coming home.

"I'm going to miss you two so much." I sigh and rest my head on Prowl's shoulder. "Keep Cybertron on track for me, okay?"

"We'll miss you too, Isobel." Prowl's voice is soothing, his touch even more so. "I'm glad you had time to come over tonight." He pulls me tighter, kisses the top of my head. "I'm so very proud of you, dearspark."

"We both are." Jazz squeezes my hand. "Now, I know ya ain't goin' t' Earth t' make waves, Isobel. But waves tend t' happen regardless. Ya ready for that? T' see what your planet's come to?"

"Not really," I admit. "But… this is my planet now, too. I'm not an Earthling anymore, not completely anyway. It's not like going home, because everything's changed. The things I were familiar with will be antiques. Tech that was new and impressive will be old news. Heck, even the fashion will be different. Do you know how much clothing styles changed from the eighteenth to the twentieth century?"

Jazz laughs. "Ya expectin' Hunger Games Capitol fashion or Firefly?"

Trust Jazz to distract me. "Neither. Hopefully. It'll be interesting to see, that's for sure."

"Mrs. Clarke wears a rather timeless uniform," Prowl muses. "With her hair tied back. That doesn't give anything away."

I know he's not really curious about current Earth fashion. But he's participating in the discussion anyway, for me.

I love these two. They're like the parents I can't quite remember. "Maybe everyone wears uniforms now."

"Maybe." Jazz hands me an energon cube. "Here. Wanna watch something?"

"Sure." I settle in between them like I belong there, which I kind of do. "Bring it on."

* * *

There's no me, no boundary between what is normally me and what is normally First Aid and Groove. We're blending together, sparks merging, losing our individuality in favor of the whole. I can feel faint echoes of other presences, bright and clever and sharp, but my focus – our focus – is on here and now. And here and now is endless. Limitless.

I float back to my own frame gradually, slowly. It takes time to recognize which hands are mine, which feeling comes from the touches to my plating. As soon as feeling comes back, though, I'm not wasting any time.

First Aid's frame is warm and trembling under my hands. He's pressing into the touch, moaning, optics flickering up at me, and I can't resist leaning down to kiss him.

There's a flavor of desperation there we don't usually have. I can taste it in the pressure of his mouth and tongue, in the way he clings to me until Groove leans down over me and takes his hands, pushing them up over First Aid's head. And incidentally giving me free room to go to town on his frame.

Afterward, we're all a sated pile of cooling plating and tangled together in such ways that it's hard to tell which legs are mine and which are First Aid's and Groove's. I cling to both of them, no intention of letting go, ever. But I'm going to have to.

We're leaving tomorrow.

For tonight, I want to just forget about everything.

* * *

I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching shuttleformers transform. One moment Astrotrain is a mech, at least a third again as tall as me and twice as wide – and that's without counting the smooth wingspan on his back – but still, a mech. One flashy transformation sequence, and he's a space shuttle big enough to fit a contingent of full-size mecha. He dwarfs even Optimus Prime. It's really fascinating to watch.

And I might be using it as a distraction from what's going on.

I force myself to look away from the three shuttles waiting on the landing strip, ramps down and ready to be loaded with energon cubes and supplies. Sideswipe and Swindle are standing at the base of Skyfire's ramp, clearly arguing about something – though from the grin on Sideswipe's face, I doubt it's very serious.

Sideswipe isn't nervous about the trip. Then again, he gets to bring the other half of his spark. I'm kind of feeling like I'm leaving a third of mine behind.

There's a crowd of mecha gathered to see us off. I can't look at them, not yet. I'll have to, soon enough, but for now…

For now, I watch Sideswipe and Swindle bickering about what to load where and how, and pretend it's got to do with something else entirely.

First Aid's arms are warm around my waist. I plan to enjoy them for a while longer.

It's not a luxury I get for long. Sooner than I'd like, Reflector turns as one and walks towards Astrotrain. Cliffjumper laughs and slaps Bumblebee on the back, then almost jogs over to where Bluestreak and Skywarp are standing. Hot Rod appears from a huddle of Springer and Arcee, and drags Kup along to board Blitzwing.

Soon we can't postpone anymore.

There's no official send-off. No grand speeches. Optimus shakes Ultra Magnus' hand, pulls Jazz and Prowl close for a moment, murmuring something that makes Prowl blush and Jazz grin widely. Then he smiles and waves at the crowd, as if nothing is wrong. Ratchet is gruff where he waits, giving nothing away, shaking his head wryly at his mate when Optimus walks up to him. First Aid and Ratchet just nod at each other before Ratchet walks away. Nothing more is needed, considering that they've spent the last week making all possible plans for Ratchet's absence, but it still feels off.

First Aid pulls me closer and nuzzles into my neck. "I'm not going to say you'll be back before I'll have time to miss you, because that would be a lie. You haven't even left yet, and I'm already missing you like crazy."

I snort a laugh. It's that or cry, really. "I know what you mean." I turn around in his arms so we're face to face. "At least this time I know I'm coming back. The absence is finite."

"That's true. And I at least get to feel you." He rests his forehead against mine. "And we're both much safer than we were. Even with the Alliance in the picture."

He's right about that. For millions of years, the biggest danger to Cybertronians has been other Cybertronians. Now that that danger's passed, there's not much else that's strong enough to take us on.

I don't feel unsafe. Just unhappy.

But I need to go. And he needs to stay. And it's finite, we're coming back. We might not even be gone for longer than an Earth vacation. Who knows.

So I kiss First Aid, clinging to him until I can bear letting go. Then I wave at Jazz and Prowl and Springer and Arcee and Blast Off and Scrapper and all the other familiar faces. Watch Groove hug First Aid close for a moment, laughing and promising to take care of me. Then, finally, I let go of First Aid's hand and take Groove's. Together, we walk away from First Aid and the crowd, up the ramp and into Skyfire's cabin.

I can almost physically feel the distance increasing.

Skyfire's cabin's changed since I rode in it last. Gone are the seats against the wall and the crash harnesses. Instead there's a long hallway with a series of narrow doors. When we're through that there's an open lounge with eight low seats, and then an open doorway to the bridge. It seems bigger than before, somehow, even though I was smaller then.

Starscream is already seated in one of the low lounge seats, arms around his knees. He doesn't seem afraid. Just watchful.

Next to him, Thundercracker's soothing Soundwave. Laserbeak is sitting on her master's shoulder, chirping softly at him.

I'm glad Ratchet suggested that Starscream and Soundwave be allowed to board in private. Soundwave could probably have handled the waiting crowd outside, but it would have made Starscream uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than he is already.

Skywarp walks in, towing Bluestreak by the hand. They're still beaming, blissfully happy together, unable to let each other go. Cliffjumper is right behind them, and he wastes no time in moving to stand behind Starscream. Starscream relaxes minutely.

"That's everyone," Skyfire says, his voice coming from all around me. "Closing the ramp now."

It feels very final.

I sit down on one of the seats. Groove wastes no time sitting down next to me. He leans in against me, forehead resting against my head. "We'll be okay. He'll be okay. You know that."

I do know that. Intellectually, I know that. Doesn't make it feel any less like I'm about to leave half my heart on the other side of the galaxy.

"Who wants to play a game?" Skywarp says brightly. He's somehow managed to sit down without detaching himself from Bluestreak – in fact, I don't think those seats were that close together a few minutes ago. Which means that either the chairs can be pushed around, which would be impractical on a space shuttle, or Skyfire can shift around his internal components.

"What kind of game?" Cliffjumper sounds a bit suspicious, and I don't blame him much. "If this is another attempt to get a big group together to play Truth or dare…"

"… or Chase, 'face, erase," Thundercracker adds.

"… because we know how that went last time, and it wasn't well," Cliffjumper finished.

I can't help being curious. It sounds like there's a bunch of stories here. "What happened last time?"

Cliffjumper smirks. "Skywarp almost restarted the war."

"He did not!" Bluestreak is laughing, loudly, his one free hand smacking Cliffjumper's shoulder. "Shut up. He didn't almost restart the war."

"Only because the Aerialbots are more easygoing than we thought at first," Thundercracker replies, grinning. "And because Fireflight thinks Skywarp is cute."

"I _am_ cute." Skywarp winks. "And I totally wasn't going to restart the war. You know I would have caved way before anything serious happened. And Slinger doesn't even hit that hard."

"Not what Hook said when he had to fix your broken cheek strut," Starscream murmurs, and I know I'm not the only one who's surprised that he not only speaks aloud, but clearly remembers. That's a good sign.

Thundercracker stares at him for a moment before chuckling. "True. You whined like a baby too, 'Warp."

There are so many stories to be told here. Maybe it's good we have a couple of weeks on a space shuttle ahead of us. It doesn't sound like we'll have any problems spending the time, anyway.

"I'm taking off," Skyfire says. "Astrotrain and Blitzwing will follow me. If you want to look outside," a series of shutters move to unveil windows I hadn't noticed before, "now's a good time. I'll need you strapped down as we leave atmosphere, but you can watch for a few minutes."

I'm not the only one getting up and moving over to the windows.

The angle is wrong for me to see the crowd at first, but then Skyfire moves forward. We pass Astrotrain, and I see Streetwise looking out of one of his windows. He grins and waves at us, and then we're past him.

Skyfire turns, enough for me to see the crowd of mecha still standing at the edge of the runway. They're mainly a blur of color from here – a dash of black and white in front that I know has to be Prowl and Jazz, a big green blob that has to be Springer. I don't know if they can see me, but I wave anyway.

And then we're airborne.

Skyfire gains altitude quickly, and I get to see Pax Novum from above again. It's prettier than last time, somehow – part of that might be because I'm feeling wistful, not knowing when I'll be back. But it also might actually be prettier. Goodness knows the Constructicons never stop working.

I can see Astrotrain and Blitzwing taking off as well, angling in to flank Skyfire on either side. I wonder how they decide who's flying center – back on Earth, I would have thought that would've been Blitzwing, since he's carrying the Prime. That's something I can ask Skyfire during a quiet moment, maybe.

We level out at high altitude, and Skyfire's voice comes through the cabin again. "Okay, that's it. Pick a seat and strap in."

No one hesitates to do as they're told.

I end up between Groove and Bluestreak. Blue smiles at me. "Happy to be going home to visit?"

I shake my head, but I smile back. "I'm not going home. I'm not human anymore." I glance out the window again, even as the shutters slide closed again. "That's my home, down there. Earth is… Have you heard the phrase, 'you can't go home again'?"

Bluestreak looks confused, but Skywarp looks like he gets it. So do Thundercracker and Skywarp, for that matter.

"It means, you can't go back to the way things were. You can revisit a place, but you can't go home. Because everything changes."

"You can't wade the same river twice," Groove murmurs, squeezing my hand.

I nod. "Exactly. Earth… It's my past, and yeah, it's my planet. But I'm two hundred years out of date, and all my friends and family are gone. I'm a Cybertronian now." I glance at the rest of them. "My friends and family, my home, all of that is on Cybertron."

No one says anything for a moment.

"It's why we're not rebuilding Vos," Thundercracker murmurs. "Or Tyger Pax. Or Praxus, or Simfur, or Polyhex. We can't go home again."

"No," Starscream says, and his voice is firmer than I've heard it in a while. "But we can do better. We can make something as good, just as pretty, but without the class divide. Without the war." He looks down. "When this is over."

"When this is over," Skywarp echoes, maybe in agreement, maybe not. "I look forward to that."

Me too.

I look at the last little sliver of Cybertron I can spot past the mostly closed shutters. This trip can't be over soon enough.


	21. You can't go home again

_Dear diary,_

 _We're halfway to Earth._

 _It's been uneventful so far. Bluestreak and Skywarp stick to their cabin most of the time, and I don't want to think about what they're doing in there. I'm glad Skyfire seems to have soundproofed the walls. And then I feel a bit guilty about him having to be aware of what they're doing. He confessed to me in a quiet moment that he's muted most of his sensors in there, but he can't mute all of them since he needs to keep at least a minimum of awareness on his passengers._

 _I'm not used to being inside a mech yet. This whole sapient transport thing is still a bit new. And weird, although I haven't told Skyfire that._

 _I've had a few sessions with Soundwave and Starscream. Star's doing fairly well, all things considered. I'm still not sure he'll handle being put up on a witness stand and grilled about the worst experiences of his life, but hopefully we can find a way around that. Maybe have him testify remotely or something._

 _Soundwave is leaning heavily on Thundercracker. I'm going to set up a few sessions with Thundercracker alone when this is over. Being next-of-kin isn't easy, and I can see how much energy he's using to keep Soundwave afloat. It's working now, but it'll break him in the long run._

 _Though, hopefully, Soundwave won't need it in the long run._

 _Skyfire stays in communication with Astrotrain and Blitzwing. Every now and then we can see them. The shuttles aren't keeping any set formation, but they stay close to each other. I'm kind of glad they do. Space is big enough as it is._

 _I can't quite get over being in space, either. When I took the trip the other way, as a human, everything was much cozier. Possibly because we were travelling in Cosmos. The scale was smaller. Plus, I did spend more than half the trip as Schrodinger's Isobel._

 _With everything going on, all the talks and stories and sessions and jokes, I haven't had time to worry too much. Oh, I miss First Aid with every fiber of my being, but I don't have time to pine. Besides, curling up with Groove every night helps._

 _The closer we get to Earth, the more my mind's taken over by the trial. I can't not think about that. It's going to be difficult, in all meanings of the word. I don't know what I'll do if we don't get to bring them all home again, safe and whole._

* * *

"Isobel?"

I glance up at the use of my old name. Not many of the mecha onboard use it – the Decepticons mostly know me as Cynosura, and Skyfire's carrying more Decepticons than Autobots.

But it's Bluestreak at the door, smiling at me. Alone too, though I bet Skywarp's not far off. I put my journal away and smile at him. "Hi, Bluestreak. What's up?"

"We're having a sit-together out in the lounge," Bluestreak replies. "Skyfire says Prime wants us to plan for the arrival on Earth."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess that's a good idea."

I let him lead me out to the lounge. And stop dead in my tracks.

There are more mecha than usual. The new ones are much smaller than the rest.

Soundwave's let his cassettes out. All of them.

I move slowly to sit down next to Groove. Bluestreak sits on my other side, a quiet support for me if I need it. And I do need it. It's reassuring to be bracketed by Autobots right now.

I haven't seen Rumble and Frenzy since they helped torture me.

They're very small, fidgeting and quiet together in one seat, Soundwave on one side and Cliffjumper on the other. Ravage is on the floor in front of them, lazily stretching. Such a cat.

Thundercracker waits until Skywarp sits down next to Skywarp before speaking. "Optimus has sent us a plan for the arrival to Earth. We need to go through it and give comments."

Laserbeak looks up from her perch on Soundwave's shoulder. Her voice is as sweet as always over the short-range open comm. ::Why do we all need to be present?::

Skywarp smiles at her. "Because Prime wants everyone to know the plan, I bet. Yeah, I know, Sounders would have told you anyway. But this way you get to give your feedback to the Prime as well. That sounds good, doesn't it?"

Laserbeak is almost preening. Sweet thing.

Thundercracker hands out a set of datapads, and for a while I lose myself in the discussion. It's all fairly straight-forward and according to the instructions Ameryn Clarke gave Ultra Magnus and Prowl. There are a few annotations, though.

"Why can't we transform?" Bluestreak is frowning down at the datapad. "Earth's roads are sweet. I was hoping to get reacquainted with a few of them."

"We can. Just not in view of the human public." Cliffjumper snorts. "This is like back then all over again."

"Except no Decepticons are lyin' in wait to shoot ya," Frenzy says slyly.

I can feel my frame tensing up at the sound of his voice. It's subtle, but all of a sudden I'm back there again, feeling the cold and the hard metal against my bare skin, the horror of electricity over my flesh. I reach out almost blindly to take Groove's hand. It's grounding.

Soundwave stares at me, I think. It's hard to tell exactly, considering the visor, but it feels like he is. Further proof of the matter is when Laserbeak alights to soar across the room and land in my lap.

She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to.

And I'm realizing that I'm going to have to make peace with Rumble and Frenzy. We're in the same boat – literally. And having to spend the time worrying about whether they're docked or if I'm going to run into them around the corner… I can't do that.

Plus, I'm twice their size now. Maybe even more. I can step on them if they misbehave.

Also… There's something in the way Rumble looks at Soundwave. I have a feeling they want peace as much as everyone else does.

Laserbeak pushes her head under my hand, and I relax a little.

We still have over a week before we get to Earth. I have time to work on myself.

* * *

Skyfire's kind enough to let us on to the bridge. Not all of us at once, and we're not allowed to touch anything – except Starscream, for some reason – but we're allowed to sit in the chairs.

Sometimes, it's the most peaceful place to be. Skyfire doesn't intrude, he's perfectly happy to let me sit there in silence if that's what I want. He'll also tell me stories if I ask.

Tonight, I'm curled up in the pilot's chair and staring out the front viewport. Space seems endless, a vast expanse of black dotted with tiny glinting lights.

"Am I being irrational?" I don't have to specify what I'm talking about. Skyfire knows me too well.

"Is Soundwave?" he counters. "Or Starscream? They're dealing with past terrors as well."

His voice is big and deep and soothing. I've never known anyone as soothing to be around as Skyfire.

"Of course not." I shake my head. "They've lived with trauma and abuse for most of their adult lives. They've got every right to their reactions."

"Then why don't you?"

I smile wryly at that. He can't really see it in this form, but I know he's got sensors trained on me. "Stop turning my tools around on me."

"Someone has to." I can hear his amusement. "Do you want my opinion?"

"Please." I sigh. "My head's running in circles."

"Hmm," he agrees. "I can tell. You've never sat still in here this long without asking me for a story." He's silent for a while, but I can tell he's thinking. When he speaks again, it's slow and careful. "You're dealing well with Soundwave. I'm not going to guess at how you got there, but you probably had to handle him somehow in order to treat him. Can you do something of the same with the twins?"

"I don't know." I shrug and stare out into the black. "With Soundwave… He showed me more of himself, and I learned to understand. Rumble and Frenzy just did what Soundwave told them. Megatron didn't interact directly with them much, and Soundwave never told them how bad things were. They had every possibility to object to my treatment, and they didn't." I can hear how bitter my tone is, but I don't bother modulating it. Skyfire can handle a few mood swings. He's been friends with Starscream for millions of years.

He's quiet again, thinking. I watch the stars while I wait.

"They might not have had a choice," he says finally. "Isobel, if I remember correctly, I believe parts of Earth have made extensive use of child soldiers?"

I stare at the ceiling for a moment. "Oh, gods. You're not comparing Rumble and Frenzy to traumatized kids who've seen their villages destroyed, their families raped and murdered in front of them, who've been forced to kill their own relatives?"

"Not in that aspect, no. But they were soldiers in an army, fighting a war. Their safety, their training, their very survival depended on Soundwave, and he was under direct threat from his commanding officer." His voice turns stern – not much, because this is Skyfire, but enough to be noticeable. "Show me the child who could grow up in those conditions and feel safe enough to protest what they were being told by the person who shielded them. Pit, even normal children have a certain loyalty to their parents."

"Frenzy and Rumble aren't children." And now I'm sulky. Great.

"Not anymore, no. But they're young. Only barely into adulthood. On Earth, it wouldn't be amiss for youngsters their age to still be living at home with their parents."

Fuck. When he puts it like that… "Okay." I sigh. "I'll talk to them."

"For what it's worth," and now his voice is warm again, "I'm very proud of you. And I know I'm not the only one."

"Thanks." I push to my feel. "Well, no time like the present, I guess. Thanks, Skyfire."

"My pleasure, Isobel. Tell Starscream he can come in now, will you? I can see him waiting outside."

Skyfire hasn't changed. I have a feeling that his top priority will always be Starscream. I'm glad.

I don't have to tell Starscream anything. The moment I leave the bridge, he slips inside, closing the door behind him. Cliffjumper winks at me as he takes up guard position outside the bridge.

One day, I'll ask those two what their relationship really is. But not today. Today, I have smaller mechs to talk to.

It's late, but not too late. I stop outside Soundwave's door, pinging him.

The door slides open in front of me.

Inside, the scene is as close to domestic as I can imagine anything could be on a space shuttle. Thundercracker's seated on the widest berth, he's got Buzzsaw on his lap. Slim seeker fingers comb through every plate on the small flier's wings. Buzzsaw looks half in recharge.

Ratbat flies at me. "Cynosura!"

I raise my arms to let him crash into them. "Hi, sweetie. It's good to see you." I look up at his carrier. "I hope I'm not disturbing."

"Negative. Evening ritual: a communal activity. Grooming. Guests welcome." Soundwave moves over to the berth Thundercracker's sitting on, leaving the smaller berth free. "Cynosura: welcome."

"Thanks." I sit down on the berth he just left. Take a deep breath. Then another.

Damn, this is hard.

Thundercracker looks at me with understanding. I think he knows why I'm here. Soundwave probably does, too, considering how he looked at me earlier. Also, because he's Soundwave.

"I wondered if I could talk to Frenzy and Rumble," I say finally. "Or at least try."

Soundwave stares at me for a moment. His mask slips back. "Acceptable. Rumble, Frenzy, eject."

His dock opens, and the cassettes fly out. Honestly, I'll never get used to this.

They've clearly been detailed. I feel a bit guilty for disturbing their recharge, but it's swamped by an overpowering feeling of trepidation.

I do not like this. I should have brought Groove or someone.

Ratbat snuggles up against me. "Why did you get all tense, girl?"

Huh. Proper sentence forming. I guess someone's matured.

"Because Rumble and Frenzy hurt her, and she's afraid," Thundercracker explains, optics on me. "Isn't that right?"

I manage a nod. "That's true."

Soundwave hesitates. There's an upset drag over his mouth. "Soundwave has apologized. Cynosura has forgiven."

"I'm not here because I bear grudges," I assure him, only realizing as I do that it's actually true. "I'm here because I can't freeze up whenever I see them. I can't walk around being afraid." I look down at the two cassettes on the floor. "I need to put it behind me somehow."

Thundercracker's smiling.

Frenzy looks up at me. He looks almost bored, but I'd bet anything it's a mask. I bet Soundwave's in the back of his spark, nudging him on.

But it's Rumble who makes the first move. He sighs, looking down at the floor. "We're sorry too, meatbag. Um. I mean Isobel. Or, frag, Cynosura now I guess."

"Someone reminded me that you were following orders," I reply slowly. "So… I'm probably forgiving you."

Thundercracker leans forward and hands me a polishing cloth. It's a blatant hint, but with that smile I don't mind. He wants us all to get along.

Rumble and Frenzy hesitate, though. I don't blame them. And I guess I have to prove myself, too. "I'm not going to harm anyone, or take revenge, or anything like that. That's not me." Ratbat pushes into my fingers again, demanding, and I take the distraction happily. The polishing cloth will work fine on him first, and maybe it'll prove that I don't mean any harm. Besides, he's clearly not been cleaned yet – there's still energon around his mouth.

The twins look at each other, then at their carrier, then at Ratbat. And then they crawl unto the berth next to me.

"So, um… Have ya seen the Deadpool movie?" Frenzy looks up at me, almost shyly.

Figures they'd like that. "I love Deadpool."

Rumble grins. "Well, have ya watched the sequel?"

I freeze, stare at him. "There's a sequel?"

He snickers. "Yeah, guess ya missed that while being a vegetable, huh?"

"We have it on our datapad." Frenzy scooches closer. "Wanna watch?"

Soundwave's visor glints. "Deadpool: inappropriate viewing material for youngest cassette."

"Aw." Ratbat pouts on my lap. "But I'm almost mature. I wanna watch."

"Ratbat: not mature yet."

I rub Ratbat's head the way he likes. "Guess Soundwave is the boss. When you're older, baby." I wink at Rumble and Frenzy. "It's getting kind of late, anyway. Movie night in the lounge tomorrow? I bet Skywarp and Bluestreak and Groove want to watch, too."

Thundercracker's still smiling at me. The approval's clear as day.

"It's a date," Frenzy grins. His face falls as his brother laughs at him, though. "I mean, not a date. A deal. Shut up, ya fragger." He elbows Rumble angrily.

They really are just kids.

"Rumble, Frenzy, return." Soundwave opens his dock again, and the cassettes transform to dock. The process is just as fascinating in reverse.

I put the polishing cloth to work on Ratbat's plating again. He's almost snoozing in my lap.

It's comfortable. I'm in Soundwave's room, taking care of his cassette, and I'm comfortable. Soundwave offers me a small smile, and I return it.

I guess wonders really never cease.

* * *

We're heading from A to B. It's logical that the trip has to end. And I thought I was prepared.

Apparently, nothing can fully prepare me for standing on Skyfire's bridge and seeing Earth ahead.

"It's as pretty as ever," Skyfire muses. "I have to admit, with the way humanity was heading, I was worried."

Groove's arms are strong around my waist. I lean into him gratefully. "It looks the same."

Almost. There's something off. Just like with the UN map, something's not right. "Can I stay here as we move closer?"

"Of course," Skyfire replies instantly. "You're very welcome."

Groove stays with me as we fly closer. Even with Skyfire's speed it takes a while. Earth grows bigger and bigger in front of us.

"It _is_ different," I whisper, as Europe spins slowly into view. "I knew it."

It's the strangest feeling, seeing your home planet again when everything's changed. I'm caught somewhere between horror and nostalgia.

Groove leans forward, frowning. "What happened to the coastline?"

I sigh. "We screwed up. Humanity screwed up."

"The sea levels are higher." Skyfire sounds partly horrified as well, but the other part is fascinated. I guess it's the scientist in him. "The coastlines are radically altered because global warming has melted the large glaciers, increasing the sea level drastically."

"No wonder the map looked different," I agree. "The whole _world_ is different."

It's a lot to take in. I can't quite believe it's real.

"We're breaching atmosphere soon," Skyfire says. "Please go back to the lounge and strap yourselves in. I'll make it as smooth as I can, but apparently there's always wind shears at high altitudes now."

Groove takes my hand. "Come on, sweet. Let's go sit down."

I might need to sit just from the surprise, I realize. I feel disconnected from my frame somehow. Maybe I do really need a moment.

Groove sits next to me, and Thundercracker smiles at me from the next seat over. He looks markedly less nervous than his trineleader. Starscream's jaw is tense, wings hiked high on his back, and if his glare could drill through plating Skyfire would have a dozen holes by now.

I feel like I should do something. But before I get the chance, Cliffjumper proves yet again how aware of Starscream's mood he is at any given time. He leans closer and pushes his arm into Starscream's hand, without saying anything.

Starscream blinks. Then his hand tightens around Cliffjumper's arm, probably hard enough to dent plating. Cliffjumper doesn't even blink.

"Whatever you need," he murmurs, and Starscream's wings lower a faction. Looks like I won't need to intervene after all.

Despite Skyfire's reassurances, it's a bumpy ride. He's got more control than most airplanes I've been a passenger on, so we don't go up and down as much, but he has this side-to-side movement that would have made me queasy if I still had a human stomach. My Cybertronian tanks seem to be immune to air sickness, though. And it doesn't take long before we level out, and Skyfire slides the window shutters back to let the brilliant sunlight in.

"Can't let you unbuckle yet," he says apologetically. "The winds are unpredictable, and since our medic's in another shuttle we don't want any injuries. Be patient for a while longer."

The trip has lasted for three weeks. I should be able to handle a few more minutes, or even hours. But I'm so curious to look outside that I'm almost vibrating in my seat, squeezing Groove's hand so hard it has to hurt.

"Easy, sweet." He grins at me. "The planet isn't going anywhere."

Oh, haha. "You try coming back to your home planet after centuries and see if you aren't impatient to see it."

I conveniently, maybe deliberately, forget that they've done exactly that. The Protectobots flew home to Cybertron last time they left Earth. Groove apparently remembers, though, since all he does is laugh. "I remember Blades when we were coming home to Cybertron. He almost knocked a hole in Skyfire's chassis."

"Yes." Skyfire's voice is extremely dry. "I remember that too. I threatened to have him fly down under his own power." He banks, and suddenly I can see the ocean through the window.

"Hey, Skyfire? Which continent are we landing on?" I can't stop straining against the harness buckling me down. I want to _see_.

"Europe. Close to Geneva." He chuckles, though it sounds a little forced. "Apparently, it's apt."

I'd say so. Someone in the Security Council has a sense of humor, it seems. Or maybe it's supposed to be a pointed reminder.

"Okay, we're landing in a few minutes," Skyfire says. "No time for looking outside, I'm afraid. These guys want us down as soon as possible."

As if to prove the point, what can only be a fighter jet appears outside, escorting us. Skywarp stares at it with clear interest. "Ooh. Might have to update my Earth alt mode."

Starscream scoffs. "That thing is too light to do any damage. Any hit would go straight through."

Looks like the humans have been innovative while I've been gone. In between handling all the sea level rises and other global warming effects.

I can feel it when Skyfire starts his final approach. His nosecone lifts up slightly, there's a whirr as he extends his landing gear. All this is very familiar. Strangely so, actually.

"Why on Earth do you fly like an Earth plane?" I wonder. "Aren't you a lot more advanced?"

Skyfire laughs at me. So do the seekers. "We don't want to freak out the humans," Thundercracker explains. "Besides, there's a runway. This is efficient enough."

I look at the plane escorting us again. It's all slim planes and flat angles, wide, broad wings and low body. It looks like…

It looks like an anti-grav skimmer, is what it looks like. Like something straight out of science fiction.

Then again, I'm flying in a sapient space shuttle with a bunch of robot aliens. I don't think I have room to talk.

The jolt as Skyfire touches down is almost unnoticeable. I still feel like my spark has stopped in my chest.

"Welcome to Earth," he says softly. "You can take off your seatbelts now. We're being directed to tax into a large hangar."

I'm free of the restraints and plastered against the windows before he finishes the sentence.

Earth looks the same. And completely different.

There are trees, short grasses. Clouds in the sky. A series of flags being whipped about by the wind. Low buildings edging the runway. A control tower.

But the buildings are built in a material I don't recognize – it looks like brick, but not quite. The runway isn't tarmac, or even concrete, and it's almost sand-colored. And there's no other aircraft in sight.

I stare out the window until Skyfire's rolled into the hangar, cutting off my view.

Groove takes my hand. "Ready?"

"I guess I have to be." I don't feel ready. Everything's changed so much.

"We're letting Prime disembark first," Thundercracker reminds us. "Keep quiet for now. We don't want to give away anything." He nods towards our linked hands. "Don't show them who we are to each other yet. We don't know what they'll end up using against us."

This feels more like going into hostile enemy land than to a trial. I don't like it. And I won't let go of Groove's hand until I have to.

We queue up as Skyfire lowers his ramp. I walk behind Skywarp and Bluestreak. Soundwave and Starscream are both close behind me, somewhat surrounded by mecha. One glance at Starscream proves he's as nervous as I am.

The hangar is full of humans. There's a contingent of them standing in the middle of the floor, in various versions of parade rest. Behind them, lining the entire space, there are soldiers. Armed soldiers. Each one pointing some sort of weapon at us.

So much for a peaceful welcome. Though I suppose they have a right to be cautious.

We stop next to Optimus and Ratchet and the others who'd been flying in Blitzwing, just as Astrotrain's passengers disembark and come up behind us. Soon we're an orderly crowd, staring down at the humans in charge.

Not that that seems to worry any of them. The dark-haired woman in the front and center takes one look at us before stepping forward.

"Cybertronians," she greets us. Her accent is clipped, and very familiar. "I am Ameryn Clarke. Welcome to Earth."

Holy crap.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Holy crap._

 _I'm on Earth. It doesn't seem real._

 _The humans have set aside living space for us in one of their larger hangars. Even with that, there's not much room, and the rooms are tiny, but at least there's privacy of sorts. And the humans don't come in here unless invited._

 _It is so strange to be here. Earth air feels like it used to, even though my systems are different. The ground is familiar – even when I sink into it. It reminds me of the time I went to an outdoor wedding in high heels._

 _I hadn't thought I would be back here._

 _The humans have been friendly, so far. Even if they're on their guard. I don't blame them for that. Even without visible weaponry, any one of us could kill a human without putting much effort into it. At least a few of them seem more curious than hostile though, which is a good start._

 _Mrs. Clarke told us that the trial would start a week from now. That's to give us some time to get acquainted with our surroundings and the humans here and most of all, our human attorney. The hangar we're in has a large communal space as well as a few smaller meeting rooms, where we can be briefed and interviewed. Per Ultra Magnus' request, computers that have access to the full law texts they'll be using to judge us have been set up. When I walked past there earlier, Skyfire was busy connecting them to Cybertronian datapads so we can all read them. Streetwise and Nosecone were hovering around him. I guess they're eager to help._

 _It was good to reunite with the others, as well. I wasn't sure how Sides and Sunny would handle the trip, stuck on board a shuttle for three weeks, but they seem to be doing fine. It probably helped that they were traveling with Optimus and Ratchet._

 _Everyone seems to be in higher spirits than I'd expected. Maybe they're as relieved as me to finally get this process started._

* * *

"Knock, knock." Groove taps a few fingers against my open door jamb and smiles at me.

I put my journal away. "I know they put us in single rooms, but if you think I'm recharging without you you've got another thing coming."

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker already shifted their rooms around. Optimus and Ratchet, too." He looks around my small room. "We'll move your chair and desk to my room, and move my berth in here, and then we'll have a bedroom and a lounge."

I like that plan. But I like the way he's looking at me even more. I scoot back on the berth as he closes the door and locks it.

"Soundwave screened the building." His voice has suddenly dropped into a deeper register. "And the cassettes have disabled the surveillance tech he found. The humans won't know what's going on in here." The way he's walking towards me is almost predatory.

"I want you." My entire frame is aching for him suddenly. Being stuck on a space shuttle wasn't conducive to intimacy – call me old-fashioned, but the thought of interfacing inside a living being, a friend nonetheless, icked me – and I'm more than ready to end the dry spell.

When Groove crawls over me, hands and hips pressing me to the berth, I can't help but arch into the touch. "I need you," he murmurs against my throat. "My spark _aches_ for you."

The words really get to me. My chest plates have unlocked before I've had the chance to send the command. I want his spark, I want to be surrounded by the steadfast love and care that is Groove, I want to melt into him.

And I want to feel First Aid in his spark.

Groove wastes no time. His chest plates slide apart, bathing the room in teal light, and his lips are on mine as he presses closer. I push up, into him, feeling his spark tendrils teasing mine until we're flush together, until we're one.

I'm in him. And he's in me.

And then there's this fierce presence, distant but bright, as First Aid pushes into the bond. I can't feel him very strongly, he's too far away, but there's no mistaking that adoration, that compassion and sweetness. I'd have known this was First Aid anywhere.

I love you. I push the words at both of them as hard as I can manage. I love you so much.

I love you too, Groove replies, and First Aid pulses this wave of affection at me, and I lose myself in the feeling as it climbs and climbs and climbs…

I overload with a keen, Groove moaning against my neck and pulling me close enough that it feels like we're one being.

As good as it feels, I don't want us to separate. I want to keep feeling both my Protectobots. But sparks aren't meant for prolonged merges, and as Groove slips away from me, so does First Aid. I manage to pulse one more wave at him before he's gone.

I'm suddenly very alone. It's deeply disturbing and strange to be alone in my frame again, and I cling to Groove as he settles on top of me. "Don't go. Stay here."

"Not going anywhere," he promises, nuzzling me. "Nap time?"

"Nap time."

Whatever else needs arranging, we can get to it later. Much later.


	22. Building relations

I online next to Groove. Though next to is an understatement – we're all tangled up in each other, arms and legs and kibble twisted into one being. We're still on my single berth as well, and my chronometer informs me that it's morning in Geneva. Ridiculously early morning, granted, but morning nonetheless.

I hadn't expected to nap the whole night away. Apparently we needed it.

Groove's still deep in recharge. We're so tangled together that I can't get away from him without waking him. Not that I want to wake him, really, but there's a low fuel warning blinking in the corner of my HUD, and I'm stiff and sore from recharging underneath him all night. I need to get up and move.

As gently as I can manage, I turn us. It's not gently enough, of course, and his optics online halfway to look at me.

"Shh, sweetie," I whisper. "Go back to recharge. I'm going to get some energon."

He mumbles something incoherent and turns around. I put the blanket over him before leaving.

The hangar is quiet. Most of the others seem to be in recharge still, though I can hear the low mumbling of conversation behind some of the doors. The rooms are far from soundproof, so we're going to get to know each other really well while we're here, but they're some form of privacy at least.

I walk out into the communal area, aiming for the dispenser hooked up to one of the energon tanks Astrotrain had in his hold. Someone's already there though.

"Morning." Scattershot smiles at me. "You're up early."

"I was in recharge early." I smile back and shrug, shoulder blades dipping behind me. "Means waking up early too. What's your excuse?"

"I'm always up early. Too much energy to burn to stay in recharge for a full night cycle. Our medic always hassled me about it." He puts away one full cube, starts filling another. A fourth, actually, by the looks of the stack of cubes next to the dispenser. "Not that it helped. I'm not wired to recharge for long periods of time." He glances at me. "Streetwise told us you came from here originally."

I'm glad Soundwave screened the hangar. That's not a secret we want coming out. "Yeah. I was human a few vorn ago. Vector Sigma transformed me."

"Bet it feels kind of weird to be back."

That's hitting it on the head. "Way weird," I agree. "I don't feel like a human anymore."

We stand there in companionable silence as he begins filling the fifth cube. Then a sixth. I quirk an optic ridge at him. "Did you gain another Technobot?"

"A Protectobot, actually." He grins. "Streetwise and Nosecone spent so long poring over those human laws that they fell into recharge on the floor. We straightened them out as best we could and left them there. Thought I'd make sure Streets gets fueled as well."

I giggle. "That must have been adorable. Tell me you have image captures."

In response, an unfamiliar comm link shows up on my HUD. When I accept, a series of images begin uploading.

Streetwise is a pile of black and white plating over Nosecone's white and red. It looks like Nosecone succumbed first, and then Streetwise ended up over his back somehow. It's just as adorable as I'd imagined. "Aw, look at them. Cute."

Scattershot moves aside, stacking up his six cube in some kind of insane balancing act. "Right? Anyway, I should get these back." He pauses just before walking away. "Oh, Streets told me the lawyer human was coming by at ten AM local time. Maybe you need to know that."

I do need to know that. That's still a few hours away, though, which should give me time to look over the laws as well. As soon as I've dropped off a cube in our room, anyway. It would be good to be prepared.

* * *

By the time the lawyer walks in, everyone's up. Optimus and Ratchet are seated next to each other on one of the low seats – not couches, not here, but the humans have stacked up a bunch of shipping containers in various configurations that work well enough as seating arrangements for now. We're not overly comfortable, but we're not uncomfortable either. Though some mecha, like Skywarp and Bluestreak, seem to prefer sitting directly on the floor.

Astrotrain has slid aside the heavy hangar gate to let the morning sunlight in. It's chilly outside – enough to be noticeable, but not enough to bother us, and definitely not enough to make us keep that door shut. We've been cooped up long enough. And with the door open, it doesn't take us long to spot the approaching delegation of humans.

One of them's Ameryn Clarke. She's front and center, as usual. I'm beginning to get the feeling that this woman is all steel, all solid resolve and strong will, and I'm glad she's on our side. Sort of.

Next to her is another woman, this one in a suit. They're escorted by a quartet of soldiers with rifles on their backs.

On Optimus' unspoken signal, we all relax and try to look unthreatening. Though for some mecha, like Sunstreaker or Ravage, it's a tall order. Even their default relaxed state is somewhat intimidating. I can tell Sunny's on his best behavior, though. And Ravage… looks like a cat. A very big cat. Kudos for picking up that kind of behavior, I can't imagine it comes naturally to him.

Mrs. Clarke stops right inside the doorway. Even with Optimus seated, she has to crane her neck to look him in the optics. "Optimus Prime."

"Mrs. Clarke." He nods cordially. "I trust you're well."

"Well enough." There's a hint of a smile on her face. Ameryn Clarke is the most similar person to Ultra Magnus I have ever encountered. She's stoic in every circumstance. "I trust the accomodations are to your liking. We worked mainly off of Prowl's specifications and some old military files we unearthed."

"That's why the chairs and berths felt so familiar!" Bluestreak exclaims from his seat on the floor. "We had the same types on Diego Garcia! In the cantina!"

"Indeed." That faint smile grows stronger. "The army never discards information. I'm glad some of it was useful." She turns to the side, towards her companion. "May I present the lawyer who will be representing you. This is Rachel Kamperland Lennox."

The woman smiles. She's younger than I thought, with dark hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. And very familiar dimples.

"Lennox?" I wasn't supposed to pull attention to myself just yet, but I have to ask.

"Yes." The smile turns to a grin. "I can tell you remember. I'm directly descended from William Lennox. It's an honor to meet you."

I'm floored. And Streetwise is grinning at me like he knew all along. Which he probably did, the slagger.

"And I have another surprise." Rachel – I have no idea if she'll let us use her first name, but she's a Lennox. It feels like I've found family here – smiles at us and nods towards one of the soldiers. "This is Jack Giecker. His great-something grandmother…" She pauses for effect, and it clearly works, since it has some of us leaning forward in interest. Myself included.

"Her name was Alice Decker," Rachel finishes, almost proudly.

I can tell from Streets' face that he hadn't been aware of this. He looks as I shocked as I felt a few minutes ago. And then his face splits in the widest smile I've seen in a while. "Awesome."

"You're Streetwise, right?" Jack's voice is deep, accent drawling, and he grins up at Streetwise. "I know who you are. I've seen pictures of you."

Pictures?

Oh my God.

"Alice kept the photo album," I realize. I don't notice I said it out loud until the others stare at me.

Oops.

"The photo album we left with them?" I look at Bluestreak, mentally begging for some assistance in keeping the lie going. "Remember?"

"With her and Parker and Isobel," Bluestreak nods. "I remember." He raises a hand to salute the humans. "It's good to meet you. I remember Alice – you have something of her in your face."

"So I'm told." Jack chuckles. "No getting away from these cheekbones. Anyway, this is Dominic Porter. We've both been assigned to you for the duration of your stay."

One of the other guards waves and smiles. "No relation to anyone you guys have met, I'm afraid."

"Two out of three ain't bad," Streetwise jokes. "Nice to meet you, Dominic Porter."

Jack turns to Ameryn Clarke. "We'll take it from here, ma'am."

"Very good. You," she points at Optimus, "will call me if you need me." She walks away, two of the guards following her.

Rachel looks up at us. "Now that the introductions are done…"

"Should we get down to business?" Optimus finishes. "Yes. Yes, I believe we should."

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _I've been spending all day going through law texts. It's seriously heavy material. But it's worthwhile._

 _I think I can argue that both Soundwave and Starscream acted under duress. And that Megatron should be the one held accountable._

 _I'm a bit more unsure that Optimus carrying will have any impact on the case. The humans haven't stopped putting pregnant women in jail, unfortunately._

 _Rachel seems to be optimistic, though. She doesn't know the Intergalactic Alliance, but she says she doesn't need to. They've received the charges in print – pages and pages, apparently – so that's what the judges will be working on. The Alliance aliens might not even need to come to Earth._

 _Of course, just because they don't need to be here doesn't mean they won't. I hope Ameryn Clarke has enough power to make them behave. That woman is intimidating._

 _It's so weird to have the humans around. Dominic is a neutral presence (I'm not allowed to use his last name either, he says), but Jack and Rachel… They're strangers, but every now and then the light will hit them in a certain way or they'll laugh and there's something hauntingly, achingly familiar about it. Plus they're likable, all three of them, so it's hard to keep my guard up._

 _But I have to. The near-slip earlier was bad enough. We can't let them find out that I'm really Isobel. It's a good thing most of the Cybertronians call me Cynosura now._

 _Cynosura is who I have to be._

* * *

It's hard to adapt to an Earth's rhythm. Days and nights are shorter than I'm used to. Shorter than I need now – I can stay awake for over 24 hours and then recharge for sixteen, and that doesn't really work here. We've had to change our patterns, but it's hard. It's like we're all in a state of constant jetlag.

Which is why I'm wandering the base in the middle of the night. Groove's out like a light – spark overloads does that to him these days. Probably a side effect of maintaining the bond with First Aid over such a distance.

It's quiet in the hangar. Most of the others are trying to recharge in the night. I would have been too, if my brain hadn't been working overtime.

The communal area isn't quite empty. There's a small form sitting in front of one of the computers. One of the only two small enough to use a human computer without special connectors.

I sit down next to him. "Hi, Frenzy."

"Cynosura." He grins. "Can't sleep?"

"Nope. You either?"

"Too many things to see, too much to catch up on." He types something. "Besides, I spent all day napping in my dock. Can't sleep anymore then."

"I guess."

Spending time with Frenzy and Rumble on the trip here has helped a lot. I'm a lot less nervous around them than I used to be. In fact…

I move away a bit before transforming and calling up my holoform. It's a test of how far I've come, really – if I can be my humanoid self around Frenzy, then I've made a lot of progress.

"So what are you looking at?" I lean against the back of his chair.

He glances back, visor bright. "Whoa. Long time no see." He leans away from me slightly. "Um."

"What's wrong?" I reach out to poke his shoulder, but he flinches away.

Hmm.

Time for a second experiment.

"Frenzy?"

"Yeah?" He sounds apprehensive.

"Come stand up?"

I wait until he's standing in front of me. We're about the same height, but he's a lot broader than me, obviously. And a lot more nervous.

It's not exactly a recognized psychological tool. But sometimes you just have to hug it out. And if I can hug Frenzy without freaking out, I'm definitely cured.

He's tense at first. Cold and stiff and frozen. But when I don't let go, he mellows gradually.

"Um. So what's this for?"

Heh. He sounds so confused. "It's a hug. You saying you didn't need one?"

He laughs. "I can take anything you can deal, fleshie."

"Course you can." He's such a kid. "Now tell me what you're working on?"

"Sure." He lets go, maybe a little reluctantly. "I was just looking up stuff. Movies and things. It's just a way to spend the time." I follow him, leaning against the back of his chair and looking over his shoulder. "See, I've been reading a bit of history and stuff." He snorts. "Did ya know that Disney tried to buy the state of Florida?"

I did not. But it sounds like something they would do.

"And hey, look what I found." He clicks one of the open tabs. "Can ya believe this?"

I stare. "Is that _e-bay_?"

"Yeah." He chortles. "That didn't die."

"Two hundred year old website," I muse. "Wonder if anyone saw that coming."

"Your time had an impact, apparently. Hot Rod asked Dominic about something earlier, we didn't catch what, but Dominic replied that he'd have to google it. And google isn't even a search engine anymore. There's only one search engine now, and it's called AllSearch."

"Very creative."

He snorts again. "Right? Tell me about it. Anyway, this is what I wanted to show you."

I lean in, try to figure out what he's looking at. It's an auction page, similar to e-bay but not quite the same. "Nihonium?"

"Yeah. We call it ununtrium. The scientists back home are crazy about this stuff." He clicks the picture. "It's rare, and apparently there's lots of stuff we can use it for. Here they have so much of it, random dudes are selling it online. Perceptor woulda loved a sample of this."

"Too bad we can't buy some to bring home for him."

Frenzy spins in the chair. There's a contemplative look on his face as he gazes up at me. "Hey. Jack said great-something Alice left the family with a lot of money. Something about a patent?"

"Yeah, Wheeljack left us all with patentable inventions. I think she made a lot of money off hers."

He grins wickedly. And I realize I'm cured, because if anything was going to creep me out, it's that grin, and I'm fine. "Did you make a lot of money too?"

I shrug. "More than I knew what to do with. Parker put most of it in a fund for me."

"A fund?" His look turns shrewd. "Know what it was called?"

I shake my head. "I couldn't even remember when I was human. The logo was a vine of sorts, I remember that much."

"Hmm. Gimme a sec."

I watch as Frenzy immerses himself in googling. It takes a few minutes before he lands on a web page he seems to like. "Okay, give me your social security number."

I rattle off the number. That, at least, isn't gone.

"Okay. And there's a password, remember that?"

I can't remember ever logging onto the fund web page at all. But Parker knew how I built my passwords… "Try BenjiandHotAliens7(."

He laughs as he punches it in. "You're kidding."

"Nope." I grin. "That's not even the worst one. My e-mail password was FacingFirstAid6969."

That turns his laugh completely evil. "More than I needed to know, fleshie. Though I'm glad you're as gutsy as I thought ya were. Hey, we're in."

I blink. "We're in? It's a two hundred year old account."

"Not that unusual. Their info page stated that they work with big charities and organizations and such. Most of them are long-term. If I had to guess, I'd say Parker changed your account when she realized what you were doing." He points to a corner of the screen. "Hey, there's your balance."

I'm glad I'm holding onto the chair again. My legs are suddenly weak. "That's… an impressive amount of figures."

He grins widely. "Yeah. Congrats, you're loaded. You can buy all the ununtrium Earth has to offer, then fund a space program to build the shuttle that'll transport the stuff to Cybertron."

"Um." I can't wrap my head around it. I know there wasn't that insane amount of money to begin with. Apparently, a couple of centuries' worth of interest makes a difference. "That's crazy."

Frenzy doesn't seem bothered. "World's crazy. Might as well roll with it." He looks up at me. "What're you gonna do?"

"Think about it, for starters." I have no idea. At least I don't have to make a decision now. "Hey, do me a favor and don't tell anyone, okay? I don't want this to get out."

"My lips are sealed." He mimics dragging a zipper over his lips. "Seriously, though? This is way cool."

I kind of have to agree with that.

* * *

"Hello, Cynosura." Optimus smiles at me as I dump down beside him.

"Hello, Optimus. How are things?" I'd come up with something more intelligent to say, but my extremely early morning is catching up to me. I'm hoping staying up late will let me sleep longer tomorrow, but it looks like all I'm maybe doing is fragging up my rhythm even further. Still, it's worth a try.

"Better than I had feared." That small smile stays on his face as he looks into the distance, one hand absentmindedly rubbing over his chest.

I nod towards the broad windshield. "Sparklet giving you trouble?"

"He's energetic. Some soreness and exhaustion is normal, Ratchet says." He huffs softly. "There's an extra person dragging energy from my spark, after all. No wonder it's a bit uncomfortable at times."

"Making a new person inside yourself is always a bit uncomfortable, I think," I agree. "That's probably a universal constant."

"Heh. You may be right." He puts his free hand on my shoulder. "How are you doing? I can't imagine being back here is easy."

I lean back, into the touch. Place my hands on the shipping container we're sitting on and rest my weight against it. "Easier than I'd have expected, to be honest. But I guess the hard part's still to come."

Maybe I should tell Optimus about the money. I don't know what I would use them for, after all, and there might be other things needed on Cybertron like the nihonium that Earth has in spades.

Besides, keeping this much money to myself seems wrong to me. It all stems from Wheeljack's invention, anyway.

"Hey, Optimus?"

"Hmm?" His hand is still absently rubbing his chest.

"Back when I left last time… I had a bit of money. Parker set up a fund for me, apparently, one without an expiration date, and now it's grown. A lot." I glance up at him. "A _lot_ a lot."

"Alright," he agrees, nodding for me to continue. He's very patient, Optimus is.

"And I figured… Maybe Cybertron can use the money. Here on Earth, I mean. For buying resources and stuff. There might be stuff we need."

"There most definitely will be." He looks at me, optics kind but penetrating. "Are you sure about this, dearspark? There is a lot of good you can do with that money."

"Exactly." I look up at him. "I'd like to do some good with this money. It's more than I could ever spend on my own, even back when I knew what I'd want to spend it on. I'd feel better if it was shared, to be honest."

"That's very generous." His hand squeezes my shoulder. "We should sit down with Skyfire and Streetwise at one point, talk about what could be needed. They should know."

"Sounds good." I lean against his shoulder, happy when he takes the hint and puts his arm around me. "Hey, Optimus? Thanks."

"For what?"

"For making me one of you. I'm extremely glad you did."

He chuckles softly. "You always were one of us, dearspark. I think of you almost as my own creation, and I know Ratchet does too. You're ours."

"I'm happy to be."

We sit in silence, watching the darkness outside. The base is surprisingly quiet – there aren't a lot of birds, or insects, not like I would have expected. "Earth's changed, huh."

"It has," he confirms. "I talked to Rachel about it earlier. She says that… well. The humans never needed an external threat to kill their planet."

"Didn't think we did." I sigh. "All those alien invasion movies, and we destroyed everything ourselves."

"They've made remarkable scientific progress, though." His tone turns contemplative. "I believe they'll make good trading partners when this is all over."

"I guess." I snuggle a bit closer. "How do you think this will go? All of it?"

It's not a question I've dared ask before. I'm afraid to hear the answer. But here, now, in this peaceful night with its lack of crickets and bats and night-time sounds, and Optimus smiling gently next to me, I think I can bear to hear it even if it's bad news.

"I have hopes," Optimus says lightly. "Faith, even, that things will be alright."

"It's that thingamajig in his chest," a gruff voice says, and Ratchet sits down next to me. "It keeps pulsing happy-excited-hopeful sensations at him. Drives me mad." He looks at me. "Where's your partner?"

"With his brother and the Technobots. Much as I know it's hard to believe, we're not joined at the hips."

"Oh, I know." He snorts. "Just sounds like you are, most of the time."

I poke his side. "Oh, like you are quiet."

"Quieter than you," Optimus tease.

Of course I call him on it. I can't let this stand uncontested. "Bullshit. We're inaudible."

Ratchet smirks. "You wish. Sparkplay's never quiet, sparklet. But you're right." The look he gives his mate is fond, full of affection. "We're louder than you are."

I laugh. Too loudly. This is embarrassing. "Yeah. Well. Moving on."

Ratchet sniggers at me. "Go find your mate. And don't give me that look, we all know the only reason they're not your mates yet is because all this stuff got in the way. Go find him, and I'll take my own mate off to berth." He stands, holding out his hand expectantly. "Optimus."

"Ratchet," Optimus replies, and oh my gods, there's so much affection in the way they look at each other. I'm almost melting here.

"You two are adorable." I do like to tease them a bit. Ratchet always gets all proud when I do, and Optimus gets all flustered. "There's no way we're going to keep the fact that we pair up a secret with the two of you looking at each other like that."

"To be honest, I think Rachel already suspects." Optimus shakes his head, chuckling. "I don't know how Prowl thought we could keep it a secret anyway, with a newly bonded pair on this trip. Bluestreak and Skywarp still can't keep their hands off each other."

"As it should be," Ratchet agrees. "Honestly, I'd be worried about the strength of their bond if they weren't still this caught up in each other." He pauses and smirks. "They're the loudest."

And that's my cue. I get off the container. "No contest. I'm going to berth. Night pops, night dad."

"Wait." Ratchet's grin is close to splitting his face in half. "Which one's pops, and which one's dad?"

I wink. "Wouldn't you like to know."

I ignore his continued questions, just wave over my shoulder. I have a Protectobot to snuggle up next to.


	23. Call out the lie

I online my optics to find Groove gazing at me. He's still next to me on the berth, relaxed, a slightly pinched expression on his face from the discomfort in his spark.

"Hey, you." I press a kiss to his lips. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." He smiles against my mouth, I can feel it. "I can't wait for this trip to be over. It's sucks to be this far from home."

"Yeah, I know. Me too."

I'd love to luxuriate in his arms for a while longer. All day, even. But I can't.

Today, Rachel begins her pre-trial interviews. Two days from now, the trial begins.

Still, I'm going to sneak another ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

At least that's my plan until someone pounds on the door. "Up, lovebirds!" I recognize Frenzy's voice. He sounds almost gleeful. I guess he's relishing in getting everyone out of berth in the most violent way possible. "Daylight's wasting, and the fleshies'll be here in thirty!"

I groan into Groove's neck. "Can we ignore him?"

"Not if we want to keep our door, I think." He catches me by the chin and tilts my face back up to kiss me again. "I'd love staying here with you all day, but duty calls."

I groan again, loudly, for good measure. "When we get back to Cybertron, I'm stealing both you and First Aid away for a few days, and we'll do nothing but laze around in berth."

"Nothing?" Groove teases, grinning.

"Almost nothing," I correct, as I finally manage to tear myself away and get up. Groove's got my hand and isn't letting go, so I pull at him to get him out of berth as well. "Come on. Maybe we'll beat the line at the dispenser."

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Waiting sucks. I spend half the time being nervous and freaking out, and half the time plotting and planning._

 _Thank goodness for Groove. He's keeping me sane. I don't know what I would have done if I'd had to leave both of my Protectobots on Cybertron._

 _The humans help as well. Rumble and Frenzy are playing poker with Dominic, to everyone's apprehension, but it seems to be going okay. And Jack's been watching the twin sets spar, shouting encouragement at all of them in equal measure. It's terrifying to watch, but I know it's a good way for them to burn off some energy. Sunstreaker's not comfortable in this situation, and sparring helps. Especially when he and Sideswipe twin-tag Runabout and Runamuck._

 _Rachel's been cooped up in a meeting room all day, various bots succeeding each other in there with her. She spent by far the longest with Optimus, but neither Starscream or Soundwave have been in there yet. I know Thundercracker's asked if he can be present for Soundwave's interview, as an emotional support. I hope she'll allow it._

 _I'm kind of dreading my own interview. Hopefully I'll manage to say enough to help Soundwave and Starscream, without incriminating myself in the process._

* * *

I collapse into Groove's arms with a tired groan.

"That bad, huh?" He pulls me close and nuzzles my neck.

"I thought that woman was supposed to be on our side. She was picking holes in all my arguments." I lean forward until the weight forces him to sit down on the berth. "My processor's fried."

"It's her job to make sure you're prepared. You know the prosecutor might do much worse."

"Ugh. I know." I turn in his arms until we're both comfortable. "You're lucky you don't have to testify."

"I guess." He's smiling, I can hear it. "So, did she find any holes in your arguments?"

"I'll have to work on them a bit more, yeah." Rachel had seemed determined that every flaw be exposed now instead of later, which is probably a good thing. Even though it exhausted me. "So I won't be much company tomorrow."

"It's fine. I have guard duty anyway. If I can manage." He sighs. "Streetwise isn't having this much trouble. It's unfair. I asked Ratchet, and he said it's probably to do with me having merged more often. Since we're together, you know? And now my spark is accustomed to it."

"I'm sure it doesn't help that I keep piggybacking on your bond either." I sit up so I can look him in the optics. "Should we stop that?"

"No way." He shakes his head, as if the words themselves weren't enough. "I love what we do. We're not stopping anything. Besides," his hand travels up my leg, "I find myself craving your spark too. All the time. So we're not stopping." His expression turns mischievous. "In fact, I want you right now."

I lean down to kiss him. "You know there's nothing I want more right now. But I have to talk to Starscream again. I just came by for a small break away from everyone."

It's so easy to forget to mind my words when I'm around the others. Especially mecha like Bluestreak and the twins, who've known me all along. Earlier, I found myself discussing the base on Diego Garcia and how it compared to this one with Sunstreaker. Jack was looking at me strangely the whole time.

He may be two hundred years too young to remember the base, but I'm sure he's read Alice's hand-me-down books. And I bet there's a full account of which bots were here at which time in the army records, which he'll no doubt have access to at this point. Which means he'll know that there was no Cynosura on Diego Garcia.

I need to be very, very careful.

I turn on my front and pull out the datapad. "Want to distract me? I've got a shopping list a mile long, and I need to find drop points for all of it."

Groove chuckles. "Sure. I like shopping with you. Too bad we can't go to London again."

Since word spread that we could get resources from Earth, I haven't had a moment's peace. Everyone wants something. I spent an hour with Skyfire and Starscream, writing down names of chemical compounds and rare metals, and then another with Soundwave. Rumble and Frenzy added their own list, but since theirs was mainly made up of games and toys and prank materials I feel safe ignoring most of it. Streetwise had a long supply list of tools and materials for construction, and Reflector added their own list of scientific equipment that I'm sure Wheeljack will be happy to see. And then Sunstreaker pinged me a list of maintenance stuff, polishes and waxes and cloths, which had me adding linens and blankets by the dozen. There's little that's soft on Cybertron.

Groove stares down at the completed list, optics wide. "Wow. I guess it's a good thing we have three shuttles."

"I think we'll need to come back for some of this stuff." I check off the iridium and the cesium from the list and set up a drop point for Astrotrain in Poland. "There's no way we'll fit it all otherwise. Besides, we can't really send them off that often. They're supposed to be here."

"Yeah, I guess." He pulls the datapad closer. "Come on, let's make some sense of this."

Shopping is a good distraction. I've managed to forget – mostly - about the trial and Rachel and how the heck I'm going to keep Soundwave and Starscream safe by the time there's a knock on the door. It's a perfunctory knock at best, since Sunstreaker just walks in anyway and crawls up on the berth, plastering himself on top of me.

He's heavy. But it's also really nice.

"Hey, you." I lift my head enough to rub the back of my helm against the top of his. His exvents are warm against my back. "What's up?"

"I'm supposed to come tell you that Rachel is done with her interviews and has called us all to the common room," he mumbles, voice muffled by my plating. "And I've decided that staying here is a much better option."

That's worrisome. Especially since Sideswipe isn't here. "Where's Sides?"

"Sparring." He doesn't lift his head. "Runabout and Runamuck."

I can't see his face like this, so it's hard to get a read on his emotions. Sunstreaker's an expert in keeping his tone neutral. But Groove is wearing a slight frown next to me, and that's enough to make me apprehensive. Still, I try to keep my tone light. "Did he piss them off, or did they piss him off?"

"Neither." He sighs. "That lawyer."

Wait a goddamn minute. "She talked to you?"

"Yes."

Groove looks confused now. "I thought she was just going to talk to the witnesses. Hang on." I can see it in his optics as his focus turns to the bond for a moment. "Huh. Streets says she's talked to him too, and Hot Rod and Kup. It seems like she's talked to _everyone_."

I will myself to stay calm. I like Rachel, but if she's messed with my twins' recovery somehow… "Sunstreaker, what did she talk to you about?"

"The war. Our opinion on Prime's actions, and Megatron's. Why we're loyal. Who we think are to blame. That kind of thing." It feels like he's pressing even closer to my back, if that's even possible. "Can I just stay here?"

"I think we need to hear what she has to say," Groove says slowly. "Want me to go check?"

Sunstreaker's arm darts out, grabs Groove by the shoulder. "No. You're staying too."

That's kind of charming. I'm glad Sunstreaker's coming to trust more mecha. But Groove's right, we have to go. I try to shift under Sunstreaker's weight. It's completely impossible.

I meet Groove's optics. He looks as worried as I feel. "Maybe we can stay for a few minutes?"

Sunstreaker huffs an agreement, and suddenly relaxes completely against my back. I hadn't realized he was that tense.

None of us say anything. It's enough to be together in that shared space.

At least until we're interrupted again. This time it's Optimus Prime himself walking through our door.

He smiles slightly when he sees us. And because he's Optimus and Optimus is awesome, he doesn't say anything about how Sunstreaker haven't brought us back yet. Instead, he sits down next to the berth and puts his hand on top of us. From the way Sunstreaker shifts, I'd guess Optimus is stroking his back.

"Soon we'll go back home," he begins, deep voice soothing. "We'll put this behind us and go back to rebuilding our planet. The Constructicons will have built enough housing for all of us. There will be more bonding ceremonies, and more sparklings born." He chuckles lightly. "Ratchet will complain about the increased workload, and will start keeping energon treats for them in a drawer in his clinic again, like he did before the war."

I can feel Sunstreaker moving a bit on top of me. It feels like he's turning to face Optimus.

"We'll regain more of Cybertron. When the basic needs for construction in Pax Novum are met, we can expand. Maybe rebuild another town. Set up a racetrack. Maybe build museums and galleries and libraries. There will be room and time for mecha to practice music again, to sculpt, to write, to paint."

Sunstreaker shivers.

"Mecha will be able to become what they want to do. Train as whatever they want, regardless of what they've done before. Soldiers can be teachers. Construction bots can be medics and nurses. Racers can be barkeeps." Optimus moves enough to be able to rest his forehead against Sunstreaker's plating. "Warriors can be artists."

There's a tiny, tiny noise coming from Sunstreaker's vocalizer. If I didn't know better, I'd call it a whimper.

"But first, we need to get through this," Optimus murmurs. "We need to give Rachel what she needs to represent us. We need to stick together, work together, support each other. And right now, much as I'd prefer to stay here as well, we're all wanted in the common room." He pulls back a bit, optics looking at something over my shoulder. I'd bet it's Sunstreaker's face. "Will you join me?"

Sunstreaker sighs, and slowly shifts off me. "I guess."

It's a relief to not be stuck underneath him anymore. All my vents open, in an attempt to cool me down from the overheating I hadn't even noticed.

Optimus clasps Sunstreaker's hand and pulls him up. Puts one hand on his shoulder to guide him out of the room. Doesn't let go, as far as I can see.

I get up off the berth. "Optimus has a thing with words, doesn't he?"

Groove laughs. "I'm sure that if Megatron had been less insane and more willing to listen, Optimus would have been able to talk him around long ago." He stands up and takes my hand. "Come on. Let's go join them."

The common room is already crowded when we arrive. Everyone seems to be here, sitting on the containers or on the floor, leaning against the wall, standing in open doorways. In the front of the room, near the entrance, stands Rachel. She looks tense, but not stressed.

"Thanks for coming," she begins, as soon as Groove and I have settled on a container. "I know it's been a long day." She straightens almost imperceptibly, looks around at all of us. "I've conducted my interviews with everyone, and I believe our chances of getting through this are good. I think we can get the judges on our side, can make them see that Optimus was acting in self-defense, that Starscream and Soundwave were acting under duress. But there's a condition to all this." Her face turns stern. "You need to cut the crap and stop lying to me."

I know I'm not the only one who's staring.

Rachel smiles, though there's something grim about it. "You're keeping secrets. Don't think I haven't noticed. You're not as discreet as you think you are." She snorts. "Also, you've underestimated exactly how much knowledge has been preserved from your last visit. We know a lot more than you think, and I can figure out a lot more." She points at Runabout and Runamuck. "You're related. So are Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, for that matter." She looks at Bluestreak and Skywarp. "You two act like lovesick teenagers, and you're not the only ones here who are romantically attached to each other." She frowns at Optimus. "You're all armed, even if it doesn't look like it." Finally, she looks at me. "And even though I haven't quite been able to puzzle it out, I know there's something weird about Cynosura. I know she has a history with Earth. And I need to know what it is."

I go cold all over.

Rachel looks at Prime and sighs. He still looks floored. "Look. I know why you're not telling me everything. I know your instincts are telling you not to trust, that everything you say is likely to be used against you. Frankly, it's a good instinct. But I ask you to consider this." She points behind her, at where Dominic and Jack are guarding the doorway, guns held in relaxed grips across their chests. "Those weapons are as much good against you as a paintball gun. And I'm here with only two guards. Meanwhile, I know there's an Intergalactic Alliance spaceship in orbit around Earth that is keeping Earth Plus on its toes and giving Ameryn Clarke all manners of headaches. I know that Earth Plus pulled in favors and contracts from all over the planet in the time after you first contacted us about this to build the best planetary defense system our technology's capable of making at this time. And I know every single weapon is pointing at that Alliance ship." She looks around at all of us again. "We consider you our allies in this. We're trusting you. And I ask that you return the favor, and trust us."

Ratchet stares at her. Then he chuckles, of all things. "Oh, you're definitely a Lennox. Will would be proud." He leans back against Optimus' chest, all pretense gone. "Fine. You're right. On all counts. We pair up, trine up, group up. We form bonds and families. Skywarp and Bluestreak are newly bonded, which is why they can't keep their hands off each other."

Skywarp seems to take this as permission to pull Bluestreak closer as well, putting his arms around his waist and burrowing his face against Bluestreak's throat. Bluestreak's grinning widely.

"We're not fool enough to come into a situation like this unarmed," Thundercracker says. He's moved closer to Soundwave, close enough to almost be shoulder to shoulder. It's not subtle, but I guess it's not meant to be. "Concealed weaponry seemed the best solution." He frowns down at Rachel. "Will this be a problem?"

"Are you kidding?" She snorts. "If I could hide a weapon inside my body and transform it out at will, you bet I would be armed too." She looks around again, somehow managing to meet every pair of optics. "We're not telling this to Ameryn Clarke. Or anyone else, for that matter. They don't need to know. I do. I can't have the opposition digging up something on you and blindsiding me with it. And in that respect…" She takes a step in my direction, staring up. "What's your deal, Cynosura?"

I don't want to do this. But I don't have much choice at this point, other than trusting her. Ratchet subtle nod in my peripheral view is enough to get me going. I sigh. "Was there a mention, anywhere in those sources of yours, of a woman named Isobel Harrington?"

"Sure," Jack replies, not leaving his stance by the door. "The psychologist. Alice wrote a lot about her in her diaries. There's a source from Parker Jamieson, too, though she tended to keep things more quiet."

"What about her?" Rachel asks, curious now.

I steady myself and take a step away from Groove, transforming as I move. Then I call up my holoform.

"Because I'm Isobel Harrington," I reply as I solidify in front of them, the spitting image of a woman they've only seen pictures of in sources two hundred years old.

Rachel looks surprised. Jack looks shocked.

"I was born on the seventh of June, at six o'clock in the morning," I begin, because it looks like I'll have to convince them. "I had a brother, Jeremy. He killed himself. PTSD from active duty. I first met the Autobots when Lennox hired me and brought me to Diego Garcia." None of this is personal, though. It's probably all in my file. So I look at Jack. "I remember when Alice's son was born. I was in Ireland then, living by myself with my dog. I talked to her. She was over the moon."

"You're Isobel Harrington." Rachel sounds disbelieving. "How the fuck are you Isobel Harrington."

Well, at least it seems that she believes me.

"The 'Bots came and got me. Said I was needed, brought me to Cybertron. Had an accident on the way that led to me being injured." I glance at Ratchet. I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to tell. "I don't remember much of my… transition."

Rachel shifts her focus to Ratchet as well, eyebrows pulling together slightly. "Ratchet?"

There's an obvious bond conversation going on between Ratchet and Optimus before Ratchet nods. "I can explain some of it, though some of it is beyond me." His optics meet mine as I lean back into Groove's arms. He pulls me close, closer than we've been with the humans around so far, close enough that I can almost feel the thrum of his spark against my back.

"Isobel was severely injured on the way from Earth," Ratchet begins. He's also much closer to Optimus than he was before. I can see Rachel's eyes flitting between the now obvious couples surrounding her. "We were afraid she wouldn't survive. In desperation, we brought her to a… holy artifact… of sorts." Optimus smiles wryly at the words as Ratchet continues. "We didn't know if it would work. We had hopes that Vector Sigma would be able to help. Vector Sigma has ensparked frames for us before, we wondered if it was possible to enspark her somehow."

Rachel raises an eyebrow. "I assume it worked."

"Don't make the mistake of thinking it's an easy solution," he counters. "It took nearly a hundred of your years, a lot of work on her frame, and memory input from all of us. And she still lacks memories of her time on Earth. So yeah, we managed. Vector Sigma managed. But it's not something that's on offer to any human."

Jack moves, pulling my attention. "So… They made you a robot?"

"Yeah." I grin. "Wild, isn't it?"

"Very." He looks at my alt mode appreciatively. "You any fast?"

Which is how I end up speeding up and down the runway, carrying a human for the first time. And now I'm really grateful to Arcee for those driving lessons.

Jack whoops loudly on my back. I put on an extra burst of speed down the stretch of the not-quite-tarmac just for that. This is _fun_.

Dominic is already waiting his turn when I slow down, practically bouncing. Groove is grinning at me from the doorway. "Having fun, Belle?"

"You bet." I rev my engine teasingly. "Want to race later? We never got to test how fast I can go."

Jack whistles as he gets off me. "Man, I would pay to see that."

"What do you say, Optimus?" Dominic calls. "Any of your mechs feel like letting out some steam?"

I rev my engine for the fun of it, and Optimus laughs. He barely has the chance to agree before Hot Rod's transforming next to me, rocking eagerly on his wheels. "You ready for this, Cynns?"

I laugh. "Just for that, you're on."

I don't have much of a chance of beating Hot Rod at this. But at least I can give it a go.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _This day ended so much better than I had expected._

 _Turns out I am faster than Groove. Not by much, but I am. I'm faster than Kup and Cliffjumper too, and I can keep up with Ratchet. The others all outrun me, some of them by quite a lot._

 _Hot Rod was way ecited that he could keep up with both sets of twins. He's seriously fast. He also blushed all the way to his helmline when Prime complimented him on it. There's still a bit of hero worshipping going on there, apparently, even after spending three weeks in space together. But it also looks like one word of praise from Prime is accomplishing the same as three words of correction from anyone else, which means that Hot Rod is less… I'm going to go with exuberant, though he hasn't actually changed much. It's sweet._

 _I had a lot of fun with the humans. And none of them made a big deal out of any of our secrets. I even noticed Optimus taking Rachel aside for a few minutes, gesturing to his chest. She looked decidedly surprised, but I bet him carrying is now part of the defense._

 _I almost managed to forget about the trial completely for a while. No such luxury after tomorrow._

 _I hope we're ready._


	24. All rise

The courtroom looks surprisingly like every other courtroom I've ever been in. The benches. The set-up. The raised dais with a set of judges' benches – five here, which is one of the few differences from other courtrooms I've been in.

Well, that and the fact that everything's scaled for Cybertronians. The dais is raised much higher than usual. It must be second floor level at least.

The seats to the judges' left are scaled for aliens as well. And the Alliance members I met on Cybertron are already sitting there. I want to growl just looking at them.

"Patience," Groove murmurs. "Easy, Belle. We'll defeat them."

I'm so glad he's here.

We find our seats quickly. Everyone's here – myself and Groove, Ratchet, Skyfire, Starscream's trine and Reflector all in the front row, everyone else behind us. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are directly behind me, which is comforting, especially when Sideswipe puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

I'm too nervous to catch much of what's said as the judges file in and are introduced. Or the opening statements. The Alliance's lawyer is a skinny little man that reminds me of Swindle for some reason, but he's probably good at what he does. Rachel seems to treat him with respect. Then again, she treats everyone with respect.

Optimus is the first one in the fire. Which lets me off the hook, since I'm not witnessing for him. I wasn't there for much of the war, I can't tell who was doing what or why. And my brain's too wired to catch much of the questioning. I only catch parts now and then, usually surprised that whoever's on the stand is not who was there last time I focused.

"Yes, I remember that," Kup says. "I was part of Prime's unit then. Megatron had ordered an attack on the outpost, though there was nothing there really. A handful of soldiers defending a barely-flowing energon source and a youngling center. No strategic value." He looks directly at the judges. "Megatron's seekers bombed the place to smithereens."

"No, I wouldn't say that at all," Sideswipe says. "Yeah, we're always going to be sent in to battle, and yeah, it got worse the longer into the war we got. But I've never been stationed anywhere specifically to attack civilian dwellings. Even ones in areas under Decepticon control." He shrugs. "Now, did the Decepticons attack some places because the Autobots were already there? Maybe. I can't answer that. But I can sure as Pit tell you that I've never gone out of my way to attack defenseless civilians. To slaughter younglings and sparklings. No matter what mark their neighbors wore on their plating."

"I grew up with the war." Hot Rod looks nervous. "I've never known anything else. I was an orphan before the Autobots took me in. I was young, but I remember. I remember being glad it was them." He frowns, looking much older suddenly. "I remember that one of the other younglings I was hiding with was found by Decepticons and torn apart for sport. You don't forget something like that."

"Would you say that the Decepticons are mad, then?" the Alliance lawyer asks. He sounds neutral, professional, but there's something smug about the way he bears himself.

Hot Rod apparently notices it too. "The Decepticon soldiers, you mean? No, I wouldn't say that. I mean, we're living with them now, building peace. We wouldn't do that if they were all fragged in the head. But consider this." His optics are sharp, now, no trace of his earlier nerves. "What kind of command turns a blind optic to its own soldiers committing that kind of atrocities? What kind of command actually endorses that kind of act?" He leans back in the seat and snorts. "Not my commanders, that's for sure. I've never been in doubt that I picked the right side."

Reflector takes the stand all together. I guess it would be pointless to interview them individually.

"We have archival footage from the early days," Viewfinder says. "It's conclusive. Megatron was the first to employ what you humans call acts of terror."

"In response to something the Autobots did?" the prosecutor presses.

"Not really," Spectro says. "Not unless you mean that it was a response to nothing going the way Megatron wanted."

"The Autobots were holding their ground," Spyglass takes over. I can't tell their voices apart, they're so similar. "And Megatron needed the Council gone, and the Prime defeated. That's why he bombed the square. And the youngling sectors."

"I was part of the raid on Praxus," Thundercracker explains. "I wasn't part of Megatron's leading council, but I heard things. Praxus wasn't a big Autobot outpost. It was a neutral city. It had an Autobot garrison – most cities did, back then – but it wasn't Autobot any more than it was Decepticon. Plus, it was far from Decepticon territory. There was no reason to take it, really. But Megatron didn't want to take it. He wanted to raze it. He said Praxus was retaliation for Vos," I can see from here how he tenses at those words, "but the Autobots didn't destroy Vos. That was the Senate. And the Senate was long gone by then." He's looking right at Bluestreak. "Praxus didn't deserve to die."

* * *

It's been a long day. I think Optimus himself will be on the stand tomorrow. And Ratchet. Rachel's been focusing on history today, and Ratchet's too close to Optimus for anyone to consider him impartial on that front.

It looks like they'll use another few days on Optimus. Rachel warned us that she's calling more witnesses than she'd intended. We already knew that, considering that neither Hot Rod or Kup were supposed to witness, but I think they did good. Everyone did good.

We're all emotionally exhausted, though. Which is why I'm curled up in Groove's arms, in our berth, trying to ignore that the world around us exists. And why I'm fairly certain that everyone else is doing the same. Tonight, we're trusting Jack and Dominic to keep us safe.

I don't say anything. Neither does Groove. We just lie there, curled up together, his hand stroking up and down my back. It's soothing.

After a while, I shift in his arms. Align myself more fully with his chest.

It takes one glance for both of our chest plates to crack open. And I lose myself in the reassurance and love that I always find in Groove and First Aid.

* * *

The second day is no easier than the first. And I still can't manage to focus much.

"We never feared Prime," Astrotrain says. "Not outside of battle, anyway, and even there, Megatron tended to keep him occupied. We didn't want to get captured – what soldier does? But we didn't _fear_ being captured. We knew we'd be interrogated, but we also knew we'd be kept for ransom. And while we were waiting, our injuries would be repaired, we'd be safe in our cells, we'd be – well, not cared for, exactly, but kept safe. That's more than I can say for any Autobots who stumbled their way into our clutches."

Soundwave can't testify for Optimus, apparently, since he's also under charges. But no charges have been brought against his cassettes.

"Sure, we snuck into the Autobot bases," Frenzy says. "Just as often as they snuck into ours, I guess."

"And did you ever spy on the Autobot command meetings?" Rachel asks.

"The others did, more than me and Rumble," Frenzy replies. "We heard what they heard, though. Prime held back. Prowl – he ain't here, he's the Prime's second-in-command – he was always pushin' for more decisive solutions, for more lethal power. But Prime never authorized it. He got even more reluctant as the war progressed."

"Do you know why?"

"I have a recording." Frenzy pauses a moment, and then Optimus' voice fills the courtroom. It's tinny and clearly old.

 _"…_ _may be talked around, Jazz. I can't in good conscience authorize lethal force on mecha who want a return to the old ways as little as we do. We'll defend. Nothing more."_

It's kind of decisive. And Rachel's clearly pleased with it.

The opposition, not so much.

"So you're saying that Prime willfully prolonged the war, when he could have ended it earlier," their lawyer says, pinpointing Rumble with the kind of stare I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of.

Rumble just shrugs. The cassette is tougher than me. "Honestly? Yeah, probably. But Megatron could too, if he'd bothered actually thinking about it."

"How so?"

"He was too fraggin' busy pissing off Prime to actually be effective." Rumble's almost sneering. "He kept attacking civilian bases that he knew would draw Prime out, causing collateral damage just for the pit of it. He never brought enough firepower to actually defeat the Autobots towards the end, so we had to keep retreating, kept getting pummeled. Which led to us needing more energon for repairs, which led to us attacking civilians again, which led to Megatron causing collateral damage to draw out Prime…" He grins. "I trust ya see where this is going."

"The amount of time Starscream came back beaten to within an inch of frame collapse, just because he'd dared to argue against Megatron's wilder ideas," Skywarp says.

The lawyer frowns. "I'll remind you that Starscream is not the subject of discussion. Yet."

"Oh, I know." Skywarp snorts. "But you need to understand that Starscream kept talking at Megatron to get him to change. Soundwave did, too. Onslaught. Scrapper. The lot of them. Just like Prowl and Jazz and Ironhide kept trying to get Prime to be more decisive. But Prime wasn't the one dragging things out by attacking civilian outposts and alien worlds. Prime wasn't the one raiding inhabited planets for resources, cyberforming entire planets that showed promise of life, killing anyone who wouldn't give him what he wanted." His optics are sharp as they bore into the lawyer's eyes. "That was all Megatron."

"Megatron saw us as dumb brutes." Blitzwing sounds bitter. "We're big, we subspace a lot of mass, we need a lot of fuel. He kept us on minimum reserves and used us as blunt force instruments. Astrotrain and me, we were starving for millennia. When peace came, I still had unhealed injuries I'd sustained centuries before." He glares at the Alliance. "You want someone to blame for the war? Blame the sick fragger who refused to see sense for over two million of your years. And be grateful there was someone there to fight back."

Ratchet is downright baleful, and if looks could kill, every Alliance representative would be dead on the spot. "I've seen what happens to the ones who stand up to Megatron. And I don't mean just Autobots. Pit, Autobots had it easier. We were never in danger from our own command. I don't blame anyone for not being able to harness Megatron's insanity."

"You've been at Prime's side since the beginning." Rachel's voice is soft, coaxing. "What changed?"

"For Optimus?" Ratchet snorts. "Not much. He's always been too kind for his own good. That's why we followed him. That's why we kept following him, even as Cybertron turned to ashes around us and we were as likely to die from starvation as we were from battle. That's why we rallied to every call to arms, even when we were still scarred from the previous battle. Because we knew what he stood for. What he still stands for. For Megatron…" He sighs. "I'm a medic. I've seen a lot of damage during four million years. I've had Megatron in my medbay a few times in that time too, and each time, he's been more erratic. Harder to handle. Stronger firewalls, more defenses, less likely to cooperate. Could we have ended the war sooner? Your guess is as good as mine." He nods towards the separate bench where Optimus is sitting. "But I know who was the driving force behind it, and it wasn't Optimus Prime."

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Tomorrow, Rachel says, Optimus will take the stand. After that, they'll shift focus to Starscream. Soundwave will be last. Which means after tomorrow, we're hopefully a third of the way done._

 _There was some talk of taking a break for a day between defendants. But no one wanted that. We all just want to get this over with and go home. The evenings are bad enough – we're all exhausted from a day of trial, none of us have the energy to do more than the bare minimum. Even those of us who do nothing but watch all day are drained. I dread to think of how Ratchet and Optimus are doing. Just like yesterday, they headed straight for their quarters the moment we came back to our hangar and haven't emerged yet._

 _I'm tempted to follow their example. But I can't quite relax yet. I don't think I'll be able to fully relax until this is over and we're back on Cybertron, where we belong._

* * *

I snuggle closer to Groove, as much as that's possible. We're already as close together as we can get. Behind me, Sunstreaker's pasted to my back, Sideswipe next to him. Streetwise is behind Groove, with Hot Rod somehow across all of us.

Ours isn't the only cuddle-pile. I know the seekers have dragged Soundwave and Bluestreak into one as well, under Cliffjumper's ever-watchful optics. There's a Technobot pile somewhere. And the shuttles have hidden themselves away in one of the bigger rooms.

No one wants to be alone.

"Does your spark still ache?" I'm so close I barely have to whisper.

"Not badly. It helps to be close to you, weirdly enough." He smiles. "Guess First Aid really must be pushing at me to make that happen."

"Guess so." I press a kiss to the closest bit of him, which turns out to be his cheek. "Groove, I'm so glad you're here. I'm not sure I would be upright without you."

He nuzzles me. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Across my legs, Hot Rod's vents have evened out. He's deep in recharge. We're not going anywhere tonight. Good thing we had the foresight to put our berth pads on the floor. In this pileup, I won't get cold either. Not with a pair of frontliners at my back.

"Still think we'll be okay?"

Groove chuckles, softly enough that I feel it more than I hear it. Streetwise's arm snakes over his waist to pat mine. "Don't worry. Rachel's got this."

I sure hope so.

Behind me, Sunstreaker shifts. His hand pats my hip, and I lift mine to meet it.

We go into recharge like that – Groove holding me, Streetwise's hand on my waist, Sunstreaker's hand warm in mine.

* * *

"State your name, please."

"Optimus Prime."

Rachel paces back and forth in front of the stand. "You've heard what the others have said. You've heard the charges against you. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty." Optimus frowns behind his mask. "I plead not guilty."

I watch. It's all I can do.

"A Prime is a religious leader," Optimus explains. "At least at the core. My latest predecessors were mere puppets for the Senate. The ones before them, puppet-masters. There haven't been a true Prime, a true leader of the people, in ages. When the Matrix came to me, I'd hoped to change that. Be a voice of the people." His optics dim. "Of course, Megatron willed it differently."

"How so?"

"Megatron was rebelling even before I was chosen. His attack on the energon docks where I worked as a dockhand were what caused me to become Prime in the first place. And after that happened, when he learned the Matrix had been found and there was a Prime once again, he was… irate. The attack on the Senate came soon after."

Rachel nods. "And the attacks on civilians?"

Optimus visibly hesitates. "The first attack on Iacon square was came in my first half-vorn as Prime."

"A vorn is like a year to you, correct?"

"Yes."

"You were a dock worker," Rachel says slowly. "What kind of training did you receive when you got the Primacy?"

Optimus chuckles, but there's no humor in it. "I was thrust into a leadership role over a disintegrating guard, fighting against rebels who showed no mercy and kept nothing sacred, on a planet that was starving to death beneath me. There was no training. We learned, or we died. I had some innate leadership skills, and a sense of right and wrong. I think that was why the Matrix picked me. Everything else, I learned by doing."

I can't focus. The early days of the war are almost abstract to me, so long ago that humanity had barely started walking upright. But I have to look alert for this.

So I watch Ratchet. His optics locked on Optimus. He's wearing an expression I know very well, the one that's meant to look outwardly confident and secure and usually hides fear. I don't blame him.

I watch Starscream and Soundwave, still on their defendant's benches. Soundwave is calm, apparently. He always looks calm, but I get the feeling he really is calm now. He's got his cassettes docked, which is apparently reassuring.

Starscream looks bored. It's a mask he's developed to perfection.

"Megatron kept attacking," Optimus says. "I had to keep defending. Even when he took the fight to the stars, following us as we fled. We had to stand against him. No one else was."

"Your planet was torn apart by civil war." Rachel sounds like she's narrating a story. "And there was no one else who could help?"

Optimus smiles wryly. "Cybertronians have never been popular in the galaxy."

"The Intergalactic Alliance?"

"Shunned us. We were blacklisted early on in the war. They would not get involved in something they saw as a domestic dispute."

"And when it spilled over into the rest of the galaxy? Beyond?"

"We never saw bolt or plating of anyone else unless they were fleeing us." Optimus is almost growling. "Any assistance had to be bought at blood-prices. Any resources bartered for at gunpoint. Meanwhile, the Decepticons took what they needed, killed who they didn't, and laid more devastation on the universe than anyone else ever have. I – we. We did our best to be in their way, and we often succeeded. But we couldn't save everyone."

I can tell the Alliance aliens don't like that much. Even one of the judges are frowning.

Ratchet, though, he's suppressing a wicked grin.

I lose track again as Optimus goes on about the war. Specific raids I've never heard about. Planets, whole solar systems I've never heard about, for that matter.

I lean against Groove's shoulder, absorbing his heat. His hand tightens around mine.

"Tell us, Optimus," Rachel says, tone soft. "How did the war end?"

I know they've been briefed on this. Ultra Magnus and Prowl put together an information packet that should have everything they needed to know. Rachel must have another angle.

There's a beat of silence. Optimus' optics meet Ratchet's, Starscream's, mine.

"The war ended here, on Earth," he begins. "We were based in California at the time. There had been a few minor run-ins with the Decepticons, but all in all it had been quiet. Until Megatron was dropped in pieces literally on our doorstep."

He goes on to explain every detail of that night – minus the parts that pertain to me – and I'm impressed again at the way Cybertronian memories work. It's like Optimus just has to call them up and they're there, every detail clear as crystal.

"As the truce was reached, all the Decepticons came to stay on base with us." He smiles briefly at Soundwave. "Ratchet was busy for days, getting them functional again. There were years, centuries of neglect to work through. We made a plan to retake Cybertron, which we managed."

"And now?" Rachel prompts as he falls silent again.

"Now we're rebuilding." The smile is broader now. "We're healing. Bonding. There are barely any trace of the old factions. As you can see, none of us bear our faction symbols anymore."

"Would you say there's no chance at all of returning to civil war?"

"You can never say that there will not be another war. You know that as well as I." There's mild chastisement in his tone. "But a return to the way things were? No. No, there won't be."

"How can you be so sure?" Rachel wants to know, and I'm sure the critical cast to her face is a mask.

Optimus just chuckles. He's not that easy to rile up. "Because we're rebuilding together. Because it's been nearly two hundred years since the last time there was a conflict between faction members. Because a member of the Decepticon command trine recently bonded an Autobot sniper. Because we're forming cross-faction friendships and relationships all over the place, and are coming together in a true community." His optics soften. "Because we're becoming families again."

"The first sparkling – infant – was just born to your race in over four million of our years, was it not?"

I didn't know he'd told her that. Though I don't expect them knowing about Level will make one iota of difference, one way or the other. He's safe back on Cybertron.

"Yes. And there are more on the way. I know of one other Autobot sparkling on the way, as well as one Decepticon sparkling and two Neutral sparklings." He smiles again. "None of us would jeopardize that."

Wow. That's a lot more sparklings than I knew of. I can't help wondering who he's talking about.

Wait. One _other_ Autobot sparkling?

Rachel apparently picked up on the same thing as me. Either that, or they've rehearsed this whole thing. It's distinctly possible.

"One _other_ Autobot sparkling?" Rachel grins, suddenly looking a lot more like a gossiping study mate than a professional lawyer. "Optimus, are you and Ratchet part of this statistic?"

"Yes." He's beaming now, proud carrier that he is. "Our first sparkling is due in three-quarter vorn. About seventy-five of your years. He will most likely be the fourth sparkling born on Cybertron since we found peace."

"Congratulations." Rachel isn't the only one smiling. Two of the judges have small smiles on their faces as well. "I suppose that does give you an extra incentive to keep peace going."

"Peace doesn't depend on me. It depends on all of us." His optics sweep the room. "And I think we've finally gotten there."

* * *

Hot Rod whoops as we all pour back into the hangar. "Yes! Did you see their faces? The Alliance slaggers can eat my exhaust!"

Sideswipe sniggers. "Cool your jets, brat. We haven't won yet."

"And we can't take anything for granted." For all that the words are cautious, Optimus is smiling.

I look way up at him. "Four other sparklings, huh? Whose?"

His optics narrow mischievously. Not a look I've seen a lot on Optimus Prime's face, but it's a good look for him. "Not my secrets to tell, dearspark. You'll have to wait and see, just like everyone else."

I pout. It has no effect.

Groove reins me in and kisses my cheek. "Good things come to those who wait, right?"

"They'd better." I twist in his arms so I can kiss him back. "And now we're a third of the way through."

"A third of the way through, and I'm starting with you tomorrow." Rachel pats my leg as she walks past. "So you'd better prepare, Cynns."

I hate that Hot Rod's nick name for me's caught on. But I won't be able to win that fight, however hard I try.

"I'm prepared. I've got everything I need." I look around until I find Starscream at the back of the room, leaning against the wall with Cliffjumper at his side. "It's Starscream first, right?"

"Correct." She follows my gaze. "I don't think we'll need to go into quite as much detail. We did touch on a lot of it today."

Optimus drops onto the closest shipping container. "We did. And I'm glad to be done with the worst of my part." He looks at Soundwave. "Are you okay? And you, Star?"

"Functional," Soundwave replies. Thundercracker pulls him closer, rests his chin on Soundwave's shoulder. "Difficulties: expected. Dreaded. But necessary." He turns his head just enough to nuzzle Thundercracker's cheek, and I know I'm not the only one who's staring. Soundwave is not prone to public displays of affection. Either he's relaxing finally, or this entire situation is more stressful for him than we'd realized.

I'm glad he has Thundercracker.

"I'll be fine." Starscream sounds dismissive, looks it too as he waves the question away. I can see it's an act, though. "Just a few more days, right?"

"Should be," Rachel confirms. "If I do my job right. And I always do." She salutes sloppily and spins on her heel, walking back towards the door. "Enjoy your evening, people. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

I look up at Groove. He's so frigging gorgeous, smiling at me. "Enjoy our evening?"

"I can come up with a suggestion or two," he murmurs into my audial. "If you're available."

"For you? Always."

I ignore the catcalls and the way Sideswipe is winking at me as we walk past him. We're not the only couple who'll be retreating soon.

I think we'll notice how thin the walls are tonight.


	25. Defendant

Starscream looks nervous. I don't blame him. I'm nervous as all Pit myself.

"All rise."

I can't feel my legs. Groove's hand is a warm anchor on my back.

Rachel looks at me. "I'm calling Cynosura to the stand."

It's not that far. But it feels like I walk forever before I can sit down.

The chair is uncomfortable. It's too big for me, probably since it's meant to work for the bigger frames as well. I feel like a child, kicking my legs.

Well, it's not the first time I've been small around these mechs. It probably won't be the last.

Starscream isn't looking at me. He's looking down at his hands, biting his lower lip. Cliffjumper is staring at him.

Rachel moves, pulling my attention. "State your name and occupation, please."

I swallow. "My name is Cynosura. I'm a psychologist. One of few on Cybertron."

"And you have been treating the defendant?"

"I have been his main therapist for the last six months' time, yes."

She glances up at me. "Why only the last six months?"

Here comes the balancing act. Good thing we planned for this in advance. "Because I only recently woke from stasis." True. "It took me a little time to acclimatize to Cybertron as it is now. As soon as I felt ready, I started practicing." All true.

"And before you were in stasis?"

"I was a neutral." Also truth.

"And how did you come to practice psychology? I understand it's a fairly new profession on Cybertron."

"That's correct. Previous to the time spent on Earth, we had no such specializations. My knowledge is largely based on a series of educational material the Autobots brought from Earth." Truth, though the timeline has been fudged a bit. I do remember studying from a lot of those books when I did my degree. "As you know, we're able to download knowledge instead of learning it in the traditional way."

This truth-bending is an interesting mental balancing act. I really have to mind my words.

"And you're treating patients now?"

"Yes. I have a practice on Cybertron. I started with the easier clients, and worked my way up to the others."

Rachel turns to the judges. "I want to repeat that both of Cynosura's clients have signed written agreements that allow her to discuss issues that have come up in therapy, as they pertain to this case."

"Accepted," one of the judges say. "Please continue."

Rachel nods and looks back at me. "How many sessions have you had with Starscream?"

The opening questions keep on coming. How long our sessions last. Who's present. The type of treatment. I try to stay calm, to keep it simple so I can focus on saying the right things while not saying too much, but it's hard.

And then Rachel looks at me. "In your professional opinion, what is Starscream's diagnosis?"

Finally. "Complex post-traumatic stress disorder with dissociation. When I first met him after waking up, he was completely detached from reality. He was living in isolation, under guard, seemingly unable to realize that he'd killed Megatron or even that Megatron was dead in the first place. Whenever Megatron's death was brought up in conversation, Starscream would retreat and redirect both the conversation and his own thoughts. It had gotten to the point where it was an automatic process written into his priority tree."

I glance at Starscream, then at Ratchet. I'm not too clear on what we actually did that day, but hopefully it won't be too wrong. "Psychological treatment in itself would not have helped at that point. The responses were coded into his system. So Ratchet and I led a complicated defragmentation on his system, to get rid of the bad code strings and corroded memory loops. It was invasive and difficult, but it worked. After that, Starscream's been undergoing more conventional treatment, and is making good progress. I have every faith that he will be able to integrate in society again."

Rachel nods, and I dare a glance at the judges. It doesn't look like I lost them during the technical explanation.

"In your opinion, what could cause such issues in the first place?"

"Complex PTSD is usually caused by ongoing trauma, often over an extended period of time, and often abuse." Damn, it's hard explaining this without talking about Earth or my previous experiences.

"And in Starscream's case? Do you think it was caused by abuse?"

"The medical evidence and eyewitness accounts indicate as much," I reply cautiously. I'm sure the prosecutor will grill me on this later.

"Thank you." Rachel glances at the judges. "No further questions at this time."

Wait, what? That was a lot less questioning than I'd expected.

The prosecutor stands. Behind him, the aliens are staring at me with something close to glee on their faces.

"Do you claim to be a fully trained psychologist, despite having no actual training?"

Man, this guy is straight to the point.

"I have downloaded and integrated every single text and case study on psychology that Earth had to offer when the Autobots were here two hundred years ago," I reply dryly. "I'd call myself an expert in my field at this point."

Ratchet snorts, and I can see the grin from here. Hah. Eat that, Alliance suckers.

He gives up that line of questioning. "Can Earth psychology be applied to Cybertronians? After all, you have processors, not brains."

This guy is an asshole.

"Our minds function the same way yours do," I point out. "Electrical signals. The construction material is somewhat different, but the similarities are still significant."

"Generally, what kind of situations would cause a complex post-traumatic stress disorder?"

It feels like he's throwing himself on everything I said, trying to find a weak spot to dig into. Rachel is frowning.

I don't intend to give him anything to work with.

"Long-term abuse is a typical factor. Especially if the abuser is a trusted individual, like a family member or lover. Domestic violence can easily lead to complex PTSD."

He hmms noncommittally. "And what makes you so sure that any of this pertains to Starscream?"

I stare at him. This should be obvious. "I've seen the witness statements. Read his medical files going back all through the war. He was abused."

The prosecutor looks up at the judges. "The documents Cynosura mentions have been made available to you, your honors. Now," he turns to me again, a cruel glint in his eyes. "In your opinion. Is Starscream guilty of murdering Megatron?"

I blink. There are angry murmurs from where Skywarp and Thundercracker are sitting. "I'm not sure murder is the right term. As far as I've been told, Starscream killed Megatron in self-defense."

"Ah, yes. However, Starscream had often threatened to overthrow Megatron, hadn't he?"

"That's what the file indicated." I shrug. "As I said, I was neutral during the war. I didn't see what happened."

He moves on like he hasn't heard me. "In fact, Starscream made a point out of opposing Megatron any time he could, didn't he?"

"I can only say what I've read in the statements." I'm getting a bit annoyed with the guy. "If you want actual answers as to what happened, I suggest you ask the ones who were actually there."

"Oh, I intend to." He waves my words away. "Would an abused person be able to fight back at every point like that?"

I fight to not roll my eyes. "Everyone has different breaking points. Starscream has a lot of will, that's been clear from day one of our interaction. I'm not surprised he fought back before finally snapping."

"Do you believe he should have snapped earlier?"

"Everyone has different breaking points," I repeat, slowly, like I'm talking to a child. It kind of feels like I am. "And we don't choose those."

He doesn't react to my tone. Jerk. "Considering all you've said – the possible abuse, the diagnosis, all that. Was Starscream in his right mind when he performed war crimes on Megatron's orders? Can he be held accountable for his actions?"

Now we're at the core of the matter. I'll need to keep calm and focused here. "Those are two questions with very different answers. Was he in his right mind? Yes, as much as anyone suffering under an abusive authority figure can be, and more so in the beginning of the war than the end. Starscream was an effective soldier, a good tactician, a very intelligent scientist, and he still possesses all of those faculties. He may have argued whenever Megatron made a stupid decision, he may have fought back, but he had little influence. Had he refused to follow Megatron's orders, he stood at real risk of losing his life or being permanently injured, which in the Decepticons amounted to the same thing. And if that happened, Megatron would have sent someone else to do the same job, someone who might have been less effective, less intelligent, less able to get their troops back out of the situation. I believe Starscream did what he had to do.

"Now, as to the question of blame?" I frown at the prosecutor. "Do we blame soldiers for following their commanding officer's orders? Do we blame captains for what their generals ask them to do? I believe that it is written in the bylaws of this very court that the acts of a soldier in obedience to a military order are justifiable if he didn't know or didn't have reasonable grounds for believing that the act ordered was illegal, either under the laws and customs of warfare or under the criminal laws of his country. There is also a proviso for orders that are enacted under stress."

The judge closes to me is taking notes. I hope that's a good thing.

"Under those conditions, I believe Starscream felt like he had no other choice. He was committed to the Decepticon cause, the fight for freedom from slavery. He was committed to getting as many of his troops out alive as possible. There was no intergalactic uproar claiming that his orders were illegal. Point of fact, the very alliance that could have stepped in and made a point of this chose to ignore the entire conflict." I aim a glare at the aliens for good measure. "In my opinion, Starscream cannot be held accountable for the orders of his immediate superior." I glance at the judges. "In terms of power, Starscream had as little as anyone else under Megatron."

The prosecutor doesn't look too happy. Neither do the Alliance aliens, for that matter.

"No further questions." The prosecutor sits back down, and I'm free to go.

* * *

Thundercracker leans back on the stand. He doesn't look too happy with the prosecutor. "Yes, I've led raids when Starscream was unable to. Usually because he was in the medbay, slagged beyond function."

"And why didn't you argue against your orders?"

"Because Megatron threatened to shoot me if I didn't obey immediately. I don't know if you've ever had a fusion cannon pointed directly at your face, but it's not the way I'd choose to die."

"Hmm." The prosecutor frowns up at Thundercracker. "But weren't the missions you were sent essentially war crimes?"

Rachel jumps up. "Objection! He's leading the witness."

"Sustained." The middle judge looks at the prosecutor. "Rephrase your question."

"Alright, your honor." He glares at Thundercracker, as if this is somehow his fault. "To the best of your knowledge, did the missions you were sent on constitute war crimes?"

"Some might have been. But you don't go to war for millennia without violating that Geneva convention of yours in some way." He shrugs. "If I wanted to survive, I obeyed. I did my best to get in and out as quickly and efficiently as possible, minimize loss of life and get as little attention from our enemies as possible. That was all I could do, in the circumstances."

"And did you think it was enough?"

Thundercracker's sneering now. He's clearly running out of patience. I don't blame him. "Is anything you do in war ever enough? We always lost troops. We never had enough energon. We never fragging _won_ , and we never lost either, it was all just a grind that didn't seem to ever end. And I know exactly who to blame for that. Honestly, I'm glad he's dead. At least now we have a chance at life."

* * *

It's been the longest day. And there are more long days to come.

"You did good, Belle." Groove nuzzles my cheek. "Rachel said so too."

"I'm glad I'm off the hook for tomorrow. I don't think I can take more than one day like this at once." My brain is fried.

And the day isn't over yet, either.

I look over at Skywarp, where he's sitting soaking up the sun. "Is Starscream okay?"

"He's okay." Skywarp flashes me a smile. "Skyfire's with him. He did much better today than he'd feared, so he's more optimistic than I've heard from him so far. I think he'll manage the next couple of days okay."

"I'm glad." I dim my optics again, lean my head back against Groove's plating. This close, I can feel his spark humming over my cheek. There's a strange vibration to it – it's probably got something to do with the distance between us and the rest of the gestalt. "How's your spark?"

"It's fine." He strokes my plating gently. "I actually commed First Aid about it, Soundwave helped me boost the signal. He said it's perfectly normal and will ease up when we get back."

"Good. I don't like it when you're in pain." I yawn. "I need my mecha healthy."

"There's nothing wrong with my health. Take a nap, babe. You look like you need it."

Don't mind if I do. It's been a long, long day.

* * *

"In your opinion, could Starscream have changed the course of the war?"

Astrotrain stares at him. The way this is going, the prosecutor's fast on the way to making himself hated by every Cybertronian on Earth. "I don't deal in pseudo-history." It's almost a sneer, and I'm going to buy Astrotrain a box of Swerve's treats when we get back.

"Let me clarify, then. Was there any point in the war where Starscream could have made a different decision than he did, and the war could have ended sooner?"

That earns him a snort as Astrotrain shakes his head. "You humans. You're so influenced by your short life spans. Was there something he could have done differently, yeah, probably. Who knows what that would have done to the war. Only thing I can think of is him not joining Megatron in the first place, but I have a feeling that the rebellion would have happened anyway. Which, since you're so interested in guessing how things might have gone, would probably have ended up without any changes happening. The revolution would have failed, and we would still be slaves to our functions, forced to live in squalor and pain because of what we transform into." He smiles at Starscream. "I'm glad the Winglord joined the Cause. Especially because he actually did end the war eventually."

* * *

I'm sitting on nails when Starscream takes the stand. I know he was discussing with Rachel whether he should or not as late as this morning. Apparently they've landed on risking it.

The prosecutor gets to start this time, for some reason. Maybe Rachel wants to do damage control afterward.

He looks up. "Hello, Starscream."

Starscream nods graciously. "Human."

I can feel Sideswipe laughing silently next to me. The prosecutor looks less than amused.

"You've heard the charges. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty." He waves the question away. "Obviously."

The prosecutor seizes on that like a drowning man. "Why obviously?"

"Because for all my protests, for all I fought back, I didn't change a blasted thing." Starscream sneers. "I had good, verifiable calculations that the war could have ended ages ago. But Megatron, fool that he was, wouldn't listen."

"Did you ever think that lack of competent lieutenants meant that Megatron couldn't place his full focus on the war, which meant it got prolonged?"

"Objection!" Rachel jumps to her feet again. "Compound question, your honors."

"Also, he's being a general douchebag," Sideswipe mutters next to me.

"Sustained. Council will refrain from speculation as well." The judge in the middle looks sternly at the prosecutor.

Who looks like he's eaten something sour. "In your opinion, did a lack of skilled lieutenants hinder Megatron's war effort?"

Starscream laughs. It's not a happy sound. "Lack of skilled _leadership_ hindered Megatron's war effort. He was a charismatic revolutionary, but his tactical skills were far outstripped by his will. He didn't know what he was doing once the Decepticons had grown to a full-sized army."

I have a feeling that I'm seeing some of the old, snarky Starscream resurface. He doesn't seem nervous or scared, just arrogant and confident. It's a good look.

"He had very skilled lieutenants," Starsceam continues. "He had me. He had Soundwave, whose skills are unsurpassed. He had Shockwave tamed to hand. But the oaf didn't listen to us unless we said what he wanted to hear. We were left doing damage control a lot of the time."

It's a joy to watch Starscream in action. I can't believe I worried for him. He answers every question, some with a mix of deflection and mockery, and most with a look of disdain on his face. The prosecutor is getting more and more frustrated.

"No further questions," he growls finally, stalking back to his seat.

Rachel rises gracefully. "Hello, Starscream."

He smirks down at her. "Hello, human."

She clearly isn't affected by his attitude. Probably because she's interviewed him before. "Do you hold yourself accountable for Megatron's actions?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because that would be moronic." He shakes his head. "I hold myself accountable for my own mistakes. Not his."

"And which mistakes do you consider yours?"

He hesitates, now. It's clearly harder for Starscream to talk about his shortcomings, to be honest about his feelings, than it is to complain about Megatron. That's not really surprising.

"There are only a few that matter in the end," he says finally. "I should have taken my air force and left sooner, when it became apparent that Megatron was determined to follow a path that would lead to utter destruction instead of the egalitarian world he'd promised us. I should have allied closer with Soundwave much sooner – maybe together we could have done something." He shakes his head. "It's much too late to worry about might-have-beens and could-haves."

"Starscream," Rachel says softly. "Tell us what happened when Megatron died."

I lean forward slightly. I haven't actually heard this story before. And I'm not the only one listening intently.

Starscream sighs. "Unbelievable as it is, I actually hadn't meant to kill him. Not then. For once, I actually hadn't planned to hurt him. But he changed the plan last minute, and I – he couldn't be allowed to go through with it."

"Go through with what?"

"He had a new doomsday weapon." Starscream snorted. "He always did, and they never worked. This one was supposed to bore into the Earth's crust, use the magma's heat to repower Cybertron. It wasn't going to work, obviously, but as usual he wouldn't listen to us."

"And the change?"

Starscream is clearly unsettled now. He's fidgeting. "He was down in the drilling tunnel. I guess he found something he liked down there. He came back up covered in this strange substance, grinning like a mad mech, telling me Earth had so much promise he would be foolish to destroy it. So instead…"

"Instead?" Rachel prompts, when a few seconds have gone by without him saying anything.

"Instead, he decided that he could sacrifice Cybertron to cyberform Earth." Starscream shakes his head almost desperately. "I fought to go home. I've always fought to go home. We were going to rebuild, make it better. And now he's going to destroy it completely? He can't be allowed to."

He's slipped into present tense. His optics have paled. I'm halfway out of my chair before I realize I'm moving. Ratchet's standing too.

But Rachel looks at us, waves us back. I don't really want to listen, but… Maybe she can be trusted to be responsible.

"I have this gun, see," Starscream continues, optics unfocused. "I never used it. It's too powerful. It doesn't leave any survivors, nothing that can be repaired." He laughs lightly. "I used to be afraid Megatron would use it on me, so I hid it. But he likes it when I suffer. That death would be too good for me. So I still have it." He looks around a bit, until he spots Thundercracker and Skywarp. "Remember Aphrax-3? When he torn my wings off and mounted them on the wall? I couldn't fly for months. I wanted to kill myself."

"Starscream," Rachel says carefully. "What happened?"

"He was going to rebuild the spacebridge," Starscream says desperately. "He's going to rebuild the spacebridge and use it to bridge Cybertron here, but he can't do that, that'll destroy it! I can't let him destroy Cybertron! But he isn't listening to me." His hands move, seemingly without his input; lifting defensively, accessing subspace, hands curling around air and raising in front of him.

He's reliving what happened right here in the courtroom.

Damn, I was right to be worried. Hopefully we can snap him back out of this. Ratchet is practically vibrating.

"I can't let him destroy home," Starscream says quietly, and then twitches as if hit by the recoil from an invisible gun. His hands open as he freezes. He looks lost.

"Starscream?" Rachel walks closer. "Starscream? God." She looks up at the judge. "I ask for a break to give the witness medical attention, your honors."

"Take the rest of the day," the middle judge replies at once. "We will resume tomorrow."

I'm down by Starscream's stand before he's even finished talking, Ratchet hot on my heels.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Starscream's recharging. He's in the middle of a mech pileup, Thundercracker and Skywarp and Bluestreak and Soundwave and Skyfire there with him, Cliffjumper keeping watch as usual. Ratchet says he needs a deep defrag, but he should be fine. He didn't relapse completely._

 _That's a serious relief._

 _I'm glad we got the rest of the day off. I don't think I could have gone back inside the courtroom with Starscream in that state if someone had aimed a gun at me._

 _Starscream killed Megatron for Cybertron. That's what finally pushed him over the edge._

 _It makes sense. Starscream's proven that he can withstand all manners of punishment, deal with any kind of pain, if he wants to. He's extremely resilient. No wonder his mind broke down so completely when he finally snapped._

 _Also, I hope that gun's been destroyed. I don't want to ever encounter something that could kill Megatron with one shot._

* * *

It's Hot Rod who finally manages to drag me outside. He's very persuasive, and very exuberant, and very right when he talks about how nice the weather is and how smooth the runway is and look, Cynns, don't you want to just drive until it all fades away?

So we do.

Racing with Hot Rod is different from racing with Arcee. For one, he's not determined on testing me every second. We're just having fun. And he's such a kid about it, swerving and spinning and damn near stopping my spark once or twice with worry. Crazy brat.

When I finally slow to a stop outside the hangar, I'm the best kind of spent. I ache everywhere, my energy level's low, and I'm perfectly happy just lying there and looking up at the sky.

"So that's what a melted Cybertronian looks like." Dominic's laughing at me. Fragger. "I have to say, she makes a pretty picture."

Ratchet smirks. He's left Star alone to recharge, and Optimus to do the same. It's nice to have him hanging out with us. I think he needed it after today. "She is well put together, I'll give you that much. Only the very best materials and skilled labor."

Dominic nods, as if they're discussing an actual motorbike and not, well, me. "Did you plan out the technical specs in advance?"

"Some." Ratchet prods me with his foot. I'm too exhausted to move or even care. "Some of it needed to wait until we saw what kind of spark we were working with. But we had plans for this frame design all along. And I have to say, she turned out spectacular." He grins. "Of course she did, we made her like that."

"Alright, stop your teasing," I grumble good-naturedly. "I'm hot, I get it. I'm also parched." I make grabby hands at Ratchet. "Energon?"

"You're a brat." But he smiles and hands me a cube. "Don't drink that lying down, you'll choke on it."

I sit up and lean against his legs. He makes a convenient backrest. "How's everyone doing?"

"Well enough." Ratchet strokes my head like I'm a child. "No one was very happy about today. And taking half the day off means that the trial will go on that much longer. But we can handle that."

"We have to handle that," Streetwise says, sitting down next to me. "I think we'll do okay." He nudges his shoulder against mine. "How are you holding up? Missing your other lover yet?"

"All the time," I admit. Having First Aid gone feels like almost a physical ache. "But there's so much going on that I don't have time to think about it. And I remind myself that we're only going to be gone for a short time."

"True. I know Optimus wants to go back before he gets too much further into his carry."

That reminds me. I spin on the floor until I can look up at Ratchet, and turn on my puppy eyes. "Ratchet, whose are the other sparklings?"

He boops my nose. "Not my secrets to tell."

"Aw." I pout, not that I think it'll do any good. "Any hints?"

"I don't think you know the Neutrals. And the Autobot carrier is on Cybertron." He leans back against the wall and offlines his optics. "That'll have to be enough to sate your curiosity."

Yeah, right. I'm going to be wondering about this until I figure it out. Plus, he didn't say anything about the Decepticon.

Hot Rod has finally tired himself out and flops down next to me. "Man, that was good. This surface is awesome."

Streetwise pokes his side. "Can't believe it took you this long to run yourself dry. What do you fuel on, rocket fuel?"

I listen to them banter with half an audial. Despite everything that's happened today, I'm far too relaxed and comfortable out here in the sunlight. I'm going to enjoy it as much as I can.

* * *

Author's note: Thundercracker's line about the Geneva convention has been gratefully borrowed from More Than Meets The Pod, the episode titled Does heart have brain.


	26. Does not compute

"All rise."

I stand with the others as the judges file in, sitting down once they do. It's becoming routine at this point. Any moment now Rachel will stand up and call the first witness.

Except she doesn't. Instead, the prosecutor stands up. "Your honors, the prosecution wishes to make a motion."

The middle judge nods. "Do you wish to approach the bench?"

"That won't be necessary." He smirks, and I know instantly that I won't like whatever they've come up with.

The prosecutor glances towards me, then back at the judges. "We move to have Cynosura's testimony stricken from the record."

Rachel's on her feet again. "On what grounds?"

The prosecutor's looking right at me now. "Because they built her. Cynosura is not real. She's a construct."

Oh, I knew I wouldn't like this.

The left-most judge looks down at him. "Do you have any proof of your allegations?"

"Yes, your honor." The prosecutor turns towards the Alliance aliens. "Yesterday, Ket of the Axxai was near the Cybertronians' hangar. He heard them talking. He made this recording." He holds out a hand, and that blasted lizard beast places a small gadget in it. The prosecutor pushes a button, and a moment later I hear familiar voices streaming out into the room.

 _"…_ _makes a pretty picture."_

 _"_ _She is well put together, I'll give you that much. Only the very best materials and skilled labor."_

 _"_ _Did you plan out the technical specs in advance?"_

 _"_ _Some. Some of it needed to wait until we saw what kind of spark we were working with. But we had plans for this frame design all along. And I have to say, she turned out spectacular. Of course she did, we made her like that…"_

FUCK.

"We've identified these voices as the Cybertronian Ratchet and Dominic Porter, one of the human guards," the prosecutor explains. "As you hear, Ratchet is admitting that they built her."

"This isn't admissible in court." Rachel sounds furious. "That is an illegal recording."

"It is enough to sow doubt," the judge in the middle says slowly. "From what we have seen of Cybertronian technology, it would not be impossible for them to build an automaton that looked and acted like them, but repeated only what it was told. It could be advantageous for them, especially with such a keystone defense." He straightens. "We'll need to get to the bottom of this. Ratchet, please take the stand."

I watch, frozen, as Ratchet does as he's told. I can tell enough from his expression to know that he's irate.

At least he's not being questioned by the prosecutor. The judge seems to want to do that himself. "Explain the recording we heard."

"What you heard was good-natured ribbing between friends," Ratchet growls. "It has no place in a courtroom. As for Cynosura, it's true that her frame was constructed. But she's as Cybertronian as the rest of us. She has a spark, a transformation cog. She's Cybertronian."

"How was she constructed?"

"Her spark was formed from our sparks. Then we built a frame for it while the spark was strengthening." He glares at the prosecutor. "Building frames like that isn't unusual. The main difference between Cynosura and other constructed mechs is that her spark was formed from ours, not harvested from Vector Sigma. Instead her spark was created like a gestated sparkling's spark, formed directly from the parents' sparks."

He's skating elegantly around the fact that I'm from Earth originally. That's probably wise. Hopefully he won't be found out. I hate to imagine them dismissing his testimony as well.

"If you built her frame, and her spark is formed from yours, how does that make her not artificial?" The judge's tone is neutral, but Ratchet bristles.

"Because she has a _spark_ ," he almost snarls. "She's as Cybertronian as the rest of us. Or are you making the case that we're all constructs now?"

"Not today. But as for Cynosura, I'm afraid we can't take the word of her constructor for it," the prosecutor says smugly, and I want to claw his eyes out. "We'll need further proof that she's not simply a drone, or an android. That she's not simply repeating what she's been programmed to say."

"And how would you suggest we prove that?" Rachel bites out. "This can't be resolved with a DNA test, or a cellular scan. She's metal and energy, just like the rest of them are. There's no test that can say for sure whether she's Cybertronian or not. The biological species concept doesn't apply here."

The judge at the right, the one who wanted proof of my identity, frowns slightly. "Maybe it does." Ignoring the way the others are staring at her, she leans forward to stare at me. "They do reproduce. And if she wasn't a full Cybertronian…" She turns to Ratchet, who's looking at her like she's a species he's never seen before. "Could a Cybertronian reproduce with a drone? Even one you've built yourselves?"

The look of disgust on Ratchet's face is clear as day. "No. We don't build drones anymore. And even when we did, drones were weak-sparked. Enough life-energy to stay alive, enough processor capability to do simple tasks. Cynosura is no more a drone than you are."

"So Cynosura should be able to reproduce with another Cybertronian."

"Yes." Ratchet looks ready to be done with the entire conversation. "She has a full, vibrant spark. I have no doubt she would be able to reproduce. Are you going to wait ninety years to see if she can produce viable offspring?"

This is surreal. I feel like I stumbled into an alternate reality here.

"The biological species concept is a very backward way to prove someone is the same species." Ratchet is sneering now – I've seen that exact same expression on Starscream. "I can't see how this is relevant."

"We need to take the motion seriously." The judge to the left is at least bothering to explain. "We need to be certain that Cynosura isn't simply an automaton acting under orders." She straightens, addressing all of us. "The rest of you are known quantities. William Lennox and Alice Decker both kept detailed journals of their time with Cybertronians, and many of you are known and described, or at least mentioned. Most of you we have pictures of. But Cynosura is an unknown. There is no record of her at all. Which is why we need to make certain she is what she says she is." She focuses on Ratchet again. "Which methods would you suggest to prove she's one of you?"

The technical lingo goes straight over my head. Over the judges' heads too, I can tell. Ratchet is talking about spectrum analysis and spark fluctuation identification and core radiation, and I sigh. "This is going to take forever."

"They can't drag this out too long just for this," Sideswipe protests quietly, but Streetwise shakes his head.

"They totally can. It's not an unusual tactic on this planet, to throw off the trial by introducing an unknown element like a wrench in the works. I don't see why they bother with it now, though. It's not like we won't outlive all of them. There's no sense in playing for time."

"Unless they're waiting for something." Groove suddenly looks thoughtful. "Unless they know something we don't."

"Like what?" Sunstreaker is leaning forward, so he can look past Sideswipe.

"Think about it." Streetwise seems to be completely onboard with whatever his brother is thinking. It's good one of us is getting it, because I have no idea. "Most of Autobot and Decepticon high command is right here. Plus most of our space-worthy fliers, and parts of one gestalt. Taking us out here…"

"…would not only be simpler than taking on all of us, but it would be disastrous for the mecha back home," Sideswipe finishes for him with a sigh. "Damn. I haven't missed having to think defensively all the time."

"We can't let them stall for time," Groove decides. "The worst-case scenario is too risky." He gets up, walking quietly down to where Rachel is sitting.

"What's he up to?" Sunstreaker asks. He looks at me like I should know, but I have nothing.

"No idea." Streetwise looks as confused as I feel. Whatever Groove knows, he's the only one who knows it.

It must be good, though, because Rachel brightens at whatever he's saying, and she turns back to the judges with something approaching eagerness. They're still listening to Ratchet's technical rambling, but I can tell it's not doing any good.

Rachel interrupts them. Brave lady. "If it pleases your honors, I think we've found another way. Thank you, Ratchet. You may step down for now." She smiles up at Groove. "I would like to call Groove to the stand."

The judges nod and they switch places, Ratchet giving Groove the most suspicious look I've seen on his face since the war ended. He doesn't go back to sit down, just stands at the edge of the rows of seats.

"State your name and relationship to Cynosura, please." Rachel smiles up at him.

"My name is Groove. I'm a Protectobot." He smiles up at me. "I'm Cynosura's chosen mate. Well, me and my brother. We're a triad."

I'm glad Earth seems to have come far enough that less orthodox romantic groupings don't inspire the kind of shock they used to. Everything's normal among the Autobots, but that wasn't always the case here.

"Your brother is back on Cybertron, correct?"

"Yes. He's chief medic in Ratchet's stead."

Rachel seems almost smug as she continues her questioning. "Groove, do you have anything to add to the discussion on whether or not Cynosura is a full Cybertronian?"

"I do." There's something in his optics. Almost guarded, but also excited. "I believe I can resolve it. You see…" And now he looks _nervous_ , what the heck is going on? "I've recently learned that I'm sparked. I'm carrying Cynosura's sparkling."

What the _actual fuck._

* * *

Ratchet somehow manages to convince the court to take this to a more private location. So now all five judges, Rachel, and the prosecutor are in an empty hangar with me, watching Ratchet examine Groove's spark.

I can't take my eyes from it. And I can't believe it. But the evidence is there.

There's a tiny, sea-green sparklet spinning around Groove's spark.

"There's no doubt," Ratchet says finally, straightening. "He's carrying a new-spark. Only a few weeks old at most, I'd say. Definitely conceived after we left Cybertron." He smacks Groove's helm. "Careless idiot. I thought you had an inhibitor installed."

"I thought I did too." Groove rubs his chest as the seam over his spark closes. "First Aid installed it way back. It must have malfunctioned."

Ratchet sighs. "More likely, you merged enough lately to break the damn thing." The frown falls away to reveal a grin. "Well, congratulations. Both you and the sparklet are healthy." He shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm to be a sire and a grandsire at the same time."

Groove's optics meet mine. "Belle, are you okay?"

Rachel takes one look at me and starts ushering the others out of the room. "Come on, let's give them some privacy. I trust that takes care of the motion?"

"She's as Cybertronian as the rest of them," my favorite judge agrees. "And I do wonder at the motivations for throwing this in doubt at the first place."

The door closes behind them with a slam. Ratchet manages to wink at me before he's out of sight.

"Belle?" Groove says again. "Are you okay?"

I can hear there's more to it than that. Are we okay. Is this okay.

I don't know how to react. In all the insanity that's happened, in everything I had to get used to, being a _dad_ was so far out of the scope of my imagination that I hadn't even considered the possibility.

But there's a tiny spark in Groove's chest to prove me wrong. And the color is evidence enough that it's mine.

It's much sooner than I'd thought. And I always thought I would be the one carrying it.

But I want this.

I finally manage to move. Groove's arms are right there, catching me as I step into them. "Primus, Groove." I lean my head against his chest, the way I've seen others do to Optimus. "We made a sparkling."

He laughs softly. "We did. Kind of unanticipated. First Aid's really frustrated, by the way. He wants to be here for this too."

"Of course he does." I nuzzle Groove's chest. "Is it his too? I mean, obviously it's his too, we're all in this together. But is it his too?"

"It's most likely too young." He leans against me, lets me take some of his weight. "You heard Ratchet, he thinks it was conceived after we left Cybertron. It was you and me, Belle. Even with that, though, it's most definitely his sparkling too. He's very excited to be a sire."

"A few weeks. That means we have a vorn to go." I giggle. This is too weird. "I can't believe we made a sparkling." And now I wish I'd gotten through that sparkling development file Ratchet gave me. "What does this mean? What do we do?"

"What we've been doing." Groove smiles. "We don't have to change anything. I'll need to fuel more, and when construction begins I'll need to take supplements with my energon. Aside from that, you won't notice much." His optics are on mine, and oh my goodness I could drown in them. And I can feel the thrum of his spark under my fingers. Maybe, eventually, I'll be able to feel my child as well.

My child. This is so surreal.

"You sure you're okay with this? It was kind of unintended." He sounds worried.

I beam up at him. "It's amazing. I can't believe it, but it's amazing."

That earns me Groove's lips on mine, and for a long while that's all I know. And I would be happy staying like this for the rest of the day at least. But of course we're interrupted by a knock on the door.

Streetwise sticks his head in, grinning widely. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." Groove doesn't let go of me, though. I'm glad. "It's not like we could keep you out anyway."

"Not for long," Streetwise agrees as he closes the door behind him. "Primus, Groove. How long have you known?"

"Couple of days. I was going to tell Belle when the trial was over." He kisses my forehead. "Sorry for springing it on you like this."

"I don't mind. You had good reason for revealing it like this." In theory, anyway. Hopefully the Alliance aren't actually planning anything, and we're just being paranoid. But with the history of these mechs, there's no such thing as too paranoid.

Well, there is. But it's called Red Alert, and even he's doing a lot better.

"Congratulations." Streetwise puts an arm around each of our necks, as much as our kibble will allow for anyway, and pulls us tight. "I had a feeling this would be happening. The three of you love each other too much for anything else." He grins. "And now I win the bet. Blades was sure you'd bond first."

"We probably would have, if this sparklet hadn't decided to happen anyway." Groove's hand rises to his chest, almost unconsciously. "This is a good thing."

"Are you kidding? It's a great thing." Streetwise is still beaming. I have a feeling he's going to be the most attentive uncle ever. "Though I think you shocked a few of the others."

"He shocked _me_ ," I point out. "And I'm apparently partly responsible."

"True. Congratulations, sweetie." He leans in to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. "Now. Ratchet sent me in here to tell you two that you won't be needed for the rest of the day. They're apparently going to be grilling Star's trine, and Starscream does not need to be here for that. So he asked that you go with Cliffjumper and Skyfire to keep him company."

Groove looks a question at me, and I nod. Starscream's still my patient. "Sure. We'll meet them outside."

Streetwise hugs us tight again. "Good. I'll see you later, okay?"

I sneak one more kiss as soon as Streetwise has left. It goes on for a bit longer than intended, but who cares. The others can wait.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _This is the most insane thing that's ever happened to me. And I count being turned into a giant alien robot in that._

 _I'm going to be a parent. A dad. A sire._

 _We're going to have a sparkling._

 _I CANNOT WAIT!_

 _Our own little version of Level, all soft and chubby, a perfect tiny blend of us. It's amazing. I'd get goosebumps just thinking about it, if I could still get goosebumps._

 _We need a bigger apartment. Maybe even a house, with room to play outside. Somewhere close to the other Protectobots, but not too close, and somewhere close to work so I won't have to spend too much time commuting._

 _I wonder how maternity leave works on Cybertron. Streetwise will probably know._

 _Coming back to the hangar was hilarious. Because Dominic was there, to supposedly guard the entrance, but he spent all his time switching between apologizing for his role in the recording that the Axxai made and asking a million questions about sparklings and laughing like a crazy person over the fact that someone who's practically human managed to knock up a Cybertronian, and will the kid be a hybrid?_

 _I was torn between forgiving him and wanting to punt him through the door. Groove laughed at how defensive I'm getting._

 _It's weird. I'm not normally a violent person. But I feel like right now, if someone threatened my mate and sparkling, I would probably try to tear them apart with my bare hands._

 _Maybe I should talk to Ratchet. In the few talks we've had about sparklings, he never focused on the sire's role and reactions. He's been one for a little longer than me, maybe he could give me a few pointers. If not, I'll just have to sort through it. And it's not like I'll be doing anything alone._

 _I can't wait to go back and talk to First Aid now._


	27. What would you do for your children

"State your name and occupation for the record, please."

"Designation: Soundwave. Current occupation: communications administrator for new Cybertronian council. Previous occupation: Decepticon Chief Communications Officer and Megatron's third-in-command."

Rachel smiles up at him. "Thank you. And how do you plead?"

"Soundwave: not guilty."

He's masked and visored, as usual, all stoic and aloof. It's not doing him many favors, but even Thundercracker couldn't convince him to unmask today. Hopefully he'll do okay even so.

The preliminary questions echo what was asked of Starscream. What happened during the war. The validity of Megatron's orders. Starscream's actions, and the relationship between him and Megatron.

"Megatron: particularly violent toward Starscream," Soundwave says. "Convenient scapegoat for any error, regardless of actual guilt. Starscream: also often took the blame for other fliers' errors." The light of that visor turns to where Starscream is sitting. "Spent a lot of time in medbay. Damage: undeserved."

"And what about your own relationship with Megatron?" Rachel is calm, professional, but I can tell that she's hit a nerve. Soundwave clearly doesn't want to answer that question.

It's almost weird. For all that Starscream seems more damaged than Soundwave, he was actually much calmer about testifying. Maybe it's that inherent confidence, or how he craves attention. Goodness knows Soundwave would probably prefer to not have to testify in front of everyone at all.

"Soundwave: initially trusted. Maybe most trusted. Megatron: kept Soundwave close, asked Soundwave's opinion." He hesitates, barely. "Soundwave: still careful to only offer opinions Megatron would agree with. Megatron: volatile. Soundwave: had too much to lose."

Rachel nods. "Will you tell the court what you had to lose, Soundwave?"

"Soundwave: can do one better. Soundwave: can show."

Oh. Oh, wow.

Soundwave's chest compartment opens, and Ratbat flies out.

"Designation: Ratbat." Soundwave holds up an arm for the small cassette to perch on. "Understood: humans not familiar with the concept of cassettes. Cassettes: full Cybertronian miniature frames. Not pets. Not drones. My children."

"I'm a mech, same as anyone else," Ratbat agrees. "I just look different because my function is different. I'm not a car or a plane or a microscope. I specialize in detecting minute energon traces and have fine-tuned sensors that can trace minerals underground." He grins, which looks a bit strange on that tiny face. "Don't need wheels to do that."

"Ratbat: very young during war. Only recently reached majority. Youngest of six." He glances to the witness stands, where Rumble and Frenzy are sitting. "Elder siblings: all young during war. Youngling twins Rumble and Frenzy. Youngling twins Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. Near-adult Ravage. All sent out on missions for Megatron." His mask shifts aside, and though I can see him trembling from here his voice is steady. "Tell me, councilor, what would you do for your children?"

"You were raising a family in the middle of a war," Rachel repeats, as if she's clarifying. "You had the equivalent of a very young child dependent on you. A pair of teenagers. Another pair of pre-teens. And one young adult. Correct?"

Soundwave inclines his head. His mask is still off. "Affirmative."

"Did Megatron ever threaten their lives?"

The mask snicks closed again. I'd bet that's a defensive reaction. "Affirmative. Megatron: saw cassettes as useful. Personally fond of Laserbeak. Megatron: also frequently withheld fuel. Threatened brig-time. Kicked – " his voice statics over, and he audibly reboots it. "Kicked Rumble into the bulkhead, once. Had Frenzy electrocuted as punishment. Wrenched Buzzsaw's wing." Soundwave shakes his head. "Soundwave: obedient. Took blame for cassettes. Also: made sure to always be competent. Megatron: never given cause to be dissatisfied." He looks down at Ratbat, mask sliding open again. "In the end, it didn't matter. Megatron's insanity had gone too far. He didn't care about reason, about doubt, about guilt. He punished indiscriminately."

"Was he violent toward you as well?" Rachel's voice is soft, gentle. Much more so than when she questioned Starscream.

"…yes. In the end." Every word comes out as if dragged. "Megatron… punished every imagined slight. Every transgression. Every perceived flaw. He had always taken his fury out on Starscream, but now… Now no one was safe. Including me."

"Punished how?"

Starscream never talked of this in his testimony. Of exactly what kind of abuse he suffered at Megatron's hands. I can tell Soundwave doesn't want to either, but he finds the strength somehow. Maybe from the way Ratbat is cuddling into his neck cables.

"Beatings. Often severe enough to warrant serious repair. With the seekers, he tended to crumple wing plating, crush thrusters and sensitive vents. I have fewer such weaknesses, and he was too dependent on my skills to put me out of commission for more than a few hours. So for me…" He hesitates, turns to look at the audience. I bet he's looking at Thundercracker. This has to be so incredibly hard for Soundwave.

"He raped me," he said finally. "Repeatedly. Violently. Sometimes it was all I could manage to stay upright on my post. I… had heavy internal damage. Ratchet has been kind enough to help with repairs after the war ended."

Rachel looks up at the judges. "Detailed medical files of the injuries Soundwave sustained can be made available at your leisure if you so desire, your honors. Due to their graphic and sensitive nature, they have not been made part of the documentation beyond a notice that such injuries existed and have subsequently been repaired."

I can't imagine anyone would want to read that kind of thing. I read some of it in preparing for this. Gruesome doesn't even begin to cover it. The humans should be able to see that, even without knowing how Cybertronian intimacy works.

"What of the cassettes?" Rachel focuses on Soundwave again. "Did Megatron abuse them as well?"

"Not as badly. And not intimately." Soundwave is clearly drawing on Ratbat's presence to ground himself again. "I did my best to shield them. But yes, the abuse escalated even there." He looks at Rachel, at the judges. "It is… very difficult for me to talk about what that mech did to my offspring."

Rachel nods. "Rumble and Frenzy are on the witness list for later today. They will be able to give further testimony on this." She offers him a small smile. "Thank you, Soundwave. No further questions."

Of course, his testimony's not over yet. And the prosecutor is far from kind.

"If Megatron trusted your counsel, why didn't you convince him he was on the wrong path?"

Soundwave's mask slides shut again. I don't blame him. If I could have an extra barrier between my face and that piece of filth, I would be doing exactly the same thing. "Megatron: could not be convinced. Soundwave: attempted subtle direction. Megatron: ignored advice. Later: punished gainsayers." The light in his visor sharpens as he looks at the prosecutor. "Arguing against Megatron: very unwise."

It doesn't sound like the prosecutor really cares what he asks anymore. He uses variants of the same questions he asked Optimus and Starscream, keeps bouncing from angle to angle. When Soundwave is finally allowed to sit down and Rumble is called to testify, it doesn't feel like either Soundwave or the prosecutor accomplished much at all.

I'm wondering what his angle is. He's all erratic in his questioning, doesn't follow through with anything, frequently skirts the edges of what is appropriate or allowed. There has to be an angle he's working, but I can't see it. Based on Rachel's increasingly frustrated look, she doesn't either.

When the day finally ends, after Rumble and Frenzy and Thundercracker have all been questioned, she's not the only one who's clearly frustrated.

"This is fragging ridiculous." Sideswipe is snarling, one pede kicking a fallen trashcan hard enough to send it flying. "A farce. What's he even getting out of it?"

Optimus gives him a tired look. "It's a trial, Sideswipe. I'd think they're after justice. And I understand your frustration, but destroying the humans' sanitation systems won't do anyone any good."

"Yeah, yeah. Can't blame me for being annoyed, Prime. That human is an insect." But he lopes off to find the wayward trashcan.

I move up to Optimus' side, linking my arm with his. In front of us, Soundwave is leaning heavily on Thundercracker. I have a feeling they'll be hiding themselves away for the rest of the night. "Can you see what he's getting at, Optimus? Because I sure can't."

Optimus is silent for a few steps before shaking his head. "I can't. I could at first, but now it seems he's merely after causing as much grief and dissent as he can. It doesn't make much sense."

"It makes no sense at all," Streetwise agrees, coming up on my other side. "It's not rational questioning. He doesn't try to establish blame, doesn't pursue the most likely lines of questioning." His optics are sharp as he looks up at the Prime. "Optimus, can you think of any reason why they would be playing for time now? Why would it be more advantageous for them to drag things out now than when we were back on Cybertron? Or even on our way here?"

"I don't know," Optimus admits. "Much as it bothers me to admit. But you're probably right that there is an agenda here we're not seeing." He chuckles and reaches past me to pat Streetwise's shoulder. "I haven't known you to miss much, my friend."

"I try." Streetwise's grin is an easy, infectious thing. "And something about this bothers me. I'm going to keep chipping at it until I figure it out."

I'm sure he will. He's never met a mystery he didn't like. I just hope he figures it out before it's too late to stop whatever it is.

* * *

Groove wakes me up in the best way possible. There are hands on my hips, hot breath ghosting over my stomach. It would tickle, if it wasn't for the way my lines are already burning. Every touch feels electric.

Which is of course when my comms go off. Groove's too, by the look of it.

I'd curse Ratchet if I thought it would do any good.

::Everyone, please report to the main room. Rachel wants a word with all of us.::

I sigh. "Back to the grind, huh?"

Groove kisses my hip. "It could be good news."

"Let's hope so." I sit up, kiss his helm. "Come on. Let's not keep anyone waiting."

The main room is pretty crowded when we get there. Groove snags the corner of one shipping container, next to Scattershot and Lightspeed, and pulls me down on his lap. Subtle he's not, but I ignore the way Frenzy and Rumble are giggling at us and just settle in. I can feel Groove's spark humming against my back. I know I can't feel the sparkling, not really, but it doesn't take a lot of effort to pretend I can.

Rachel walks into the cleared center of the space and smiles. "Morning. Sorry if I interrupted anything." Her smile turns wicked. "I know you're normally not up this early."

Oh, if she only knew. Though judging by that grin, I think she does.

"I got a call from the judges earlier," she continues. "They spent last night reviewing all the evidence we've submitted in writing. And based on all that…" She smiles again, looking genuinely happy this time. "They've decided to move to closing statements. No further testimonies needed."

Soundwave drops down onto a shipping container like a puppet with cut strings. He's not the only one looking relieved, either. I know how he's feeling. I'm so damn ready to end this and go home, it's not even funny.

Huh. Earth really isn't home to me anymore.

"So what does that mean?" Sideswipe asks. "Are we almost done here?"

Apparently I'm not the only one ready to leave this planet.

"We'll be giving closing statements today," Rachel replies. "And then the judges will need some time to come to a verdict. The normal is anywhere between a few hours and a couple of days, though I've known deliberations that have taken over a week. I don't think this will take that long."

"Good," someone mutters. It takes me a moment to realize it's Blitzwing, leaning against the wall in the back of the room. "We can't stay here much longer."

That's a weird way to phrase it. I wonder if he knows something we don't. Streetwise obviously wonders the same, bloodhound that he is, because he looks up at Blitzwing curiously. "We can't? Why not?"

Blitzwing blinks. It almost looks like he wasn't aware he was speaking out loud. And now everyone's staring at him.

He sighs, drag a palm across his face. "Aw, frag."

"Because we're at risk of losing one of our transports if we stay here too long," Optimus says, clearly taking pity on the big mech. "We have three carriers on this trip. Unless there are others I don't know about." He winks at Skywarp and Bluestreak. "If there aren't any more, I'm going to ask you to not make any more sparklings right now. Cybertron is better suited for that."

Rachel laughs. "Oh, when you people procreate, you really go all out, don't you?"

"Blitz?" That's Astrotrain, looking curious and a little disturbed. "Was it..?

"Doesn't matter." Blitzwing looks away. "I want the bitlet. I'll be raising him by myself. That's all there is to it."

I suddenly feel like I'm eavesdropping onto an intensely private conversation. So do some of the others, by the way they turn back to Rachel and studiously ignore the two big triple-changers, who're now standing with their heads together and discussing in low whispers. I'm sure I could pick up what they're talking about if I dialed my audial gain up, but it really isn't any of my business.

Guess I know which Decepticon sparkling Optimus was talking about now. Then it's just the Autobot sparkling to figure out.

We're going to be very busy in a vorn's time!

Rachel speaks up again. "You're all welcome to sit in on the closing statements, but most of you don't have to. Starscream, Optimus, Soundwave, as defendants you will have to. Ratchet, Cynosura, I'd like you there as well. I'm also assuming Thundercracker, Skywarp, Bluestreak and Cliffjumper will be there."

"Damn right," Cliffjumper mutters. He's hovering near Starscream, who's leaning heavily on Skywarp.

Rachel shoots him a smile. "The rest of you are of course welcome to sit in, if you want to. If not, I recommend you remain here. Dominic will stay here as well. Jack will be waiting for us there." She glances up at Optimus. "We're starting in thirty minutes, so I'm heading over there now."

Optimus nods, understanding the hint. "Then I suggest anyone who's coming fuel up now."

There's already a line at the energon dispenser. I guess the court room will be as full today as always.

I stand up, ready to join the line, but Streetwise moves in front of me and hands me a cube. "I'm not going to be in the room," he says quietly and hands another cube to Groove. "I'm going to be looking around a bit with Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Ravage. Let me know if anything gets weird in there."

Huh. Streetwise is really suspicious. It's enough to make me nervous.

"Be careful." Groove takes his brother's hand for a moment. "Don't let them see you."

"Are you kidding?" Streetwise grins. "I'll be sneaking around with three of the best spies on either side of the war. I'll be fine."

Hopefully he will. But somehow, those aliens caught a recording of a private conversation without any of us seeing them near us. We don't know what kind of abilities they possess.

It's no point dwelling on it, though. Hopefully, in a few more days, we'll be off Earth and on our way home.

* * *

I sit between Ratchet and Groove, as usual. The twins are right behind me, as usual.

The prosecutor's being a dick, as usual.

"Your honors." He's already up and pacing, the image of every courtroom drama ever shown on the small screen. "You've heard the evidence. You've read the documentation provided. And at this point, I want to remind you of what happened to Earth when the Cybertronians brought their war here."

I sit there, getting angrier and angrier as he talks about the part of the war I can actually remember in the most unfavorable way possible. He makes it sound like every human death could be laid directly at Optimus' or Starscream's feet, like Megatron was guilty only of lacking proper guidance and that's why everything went so damn wrong. Like Optimus was the aggressor, and Megatron had to defend himself.

"I am asking you for justice, not just for the men, women and children who lost their lives in a war they had no part of and no means to fight. But for the millions, _billions_ of others out there in the universe who did the same."

Oh, he's eloquent, the bastard. Ratchet is so tense next to me there should be sparks coming out of his seams.

At least he's closing first. That means Rachel can address a lot of the crap he's spewing. Because he's almost ranting now, about how the Cybertronians have run themselves to the ground as a species, how a race that can weaponize their own bodies are made for waging war, how we can't expect a truce to hold without preventive measures.

I hate the slimy piece of filth.

When he finally winds down and takes a seat, I'm not the only one looking furious. Rachel takes a deep breath before standing up. Her hands are trembling, and I don't think it's nerves.

"Your honors." She takes another deep breath. "In 2187, this court concluded that Bricriu mac Gearailt was innocent of all war crimes, despite perpetuating one of the bloodiest terrorist attacks the human race has ever seen. It was ruled that mac Gearailt was acting defensively, on behalf of the near overrun Rialtas na hÉireann, and all blame for the conflict was put on the New Unionists. In 2065, when self-styled freedom fighter Magna Shaka was tried, he was held responsible for the escalation of the Gulf of Guinea conflict. The local governments were ruled to be acting in self-defense only. And, maybe even more relevant to this trial, in the years after World War II this court acquitted both Hans Fritzsche and Franz von Papen." She glances up at the Cybertronians. "The Soundwave and Starscream of Hitler's dominion, if you will forgive my drawing the parallel."

She turns back to the judges. "I challenge this court now to rule on whether Optimus Prime, as commander of a defending, initially government-created army, can be held responsible for how a freedom fighter chose to escalate a conflict. Whether or not it can be laid at his feet that Megatron chose to strip-mine the galaxy, while the Autobots traded for their resources and tried to defend against the Decepticons every time their paths crossed. Even here on Earth, where Megatron had plans to break the planet apart for its resources and enslave the entire human race. I ask you to rule on whether blame really can be placed at the feet of those who were trying to reign in a tyrant, and to make sure as many of their troops survived his madness as possible."

Oh, I like this woman. She's really good.

"You are not here to exact judgment on the Cybertronians as a species. You are not here to determine whether their war was right, or just. You are here to determine whether these three individuals can be held accountable for all the atrocities the Cybertronian war visited on the galaxy as a whole." She slows, suddenly sounding quiet and pensive. "Atrocities will always happen in war. The Alliance wants us to place the blame for these atrocities squarely at Optimus Prime's feet. As far as I recall, no one blamed the Allies for the Second World War, despite their bombing of Dresden and other cities.

"I also want to point out that as the war was being fought, no one stepped up to intervene in what is now perceived as illegal acts of war. And I use the word 'perceived' intentionally, your honors." Rachel's eyes are sharp. "At the time, the Autobots were alone. The Alliance had abandoned them. Optimus Prime and his forces were the only ones standing against Megatron. Can we blame them for not stopping him sooner, when even Megatron's own soldiers were afraid to oppose him, fearing for their lives and the lives of their families daily?" She looks up at the judges again. "I ask you, your honors. Can we hold a person accountable if he acts under duress? Can we in good conscience say that Starscream is accountable for his leader's actions? Is Soundwave to blame for standing at Megatron's side, remaining loyal because of the threat to his children's lives? At what point is a soldier to blame for the commands he is ordered at gunpoint to carry out?

"The Cybertronians are at peace. The Galaxy is healing. I ask you to make the right call, that these mecha can move on in peace and heal as well. They are no less victims of Megatron's than the thousands left dead in his wake."

* * *

Waiting is agony. We're all just sitting around, staring. Time seems to have slowed down. Even Hot Rod's almost legendary exuberance has calmed down.

I hope they don't take too long to decide. We can't take too much of this.

No one seems to have the mental energy for anything. Not even interfacing, which has been a prime pastime since we got here. I don't blame them. Just the thought of somehow being preoccupied and not catching when they tell us they've made a decision and we can come back… No. I'm staying right here.

Starscream and Soundwave are the center of a cuddle-pile along one of the walls in the main room. The shipping crates have been pushed aside to make room for all three seekers, Soundwave and the cassettes, Bluestreak, and Skyfire. Cliffjumper is standing between them and the front door, almost as if he's standing watch.

I waste a few minutes pondering his relationship with Starscream. I really can't figure them out. When this is over, maybe I should just ask.

Streetwise isn't here. He spends a lot of his time roaming the base, with Nosecone or the cassettes in tow. So far he hasn't found anything, at least not anything he's shared with us, but he doesn't stop. I guess, just like the rest of us, he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"How long has it been?" Astrotrain mutters. I almost forgot he's here, he's been still for so long.

"Forty-one hours and eleven minutes," Runabout replies. He's seated on the floor, playing some form of slow card game with his brother. They're the only ones who seem to have the mental energy to do anything.

"You should go recharge," Kup says, to no one in particular and for the sixteenth time. "We ain't no good all exhausted."

"I am recharging," Sunstreaker mumbles, his face buried in Sideswipe's neck. "Shut up."

"It's morning," Reflector says softly. They're standing in the doorway, looking out, all three facing the coming dawn. "Maybe we'll hear something today."

"Maybe." Blitzwing sighs. "Don't get your hopes up."

I lean back against Groove's chest and dim my optics. Not much to see right now anyway.

* * *

It's three days before Rachel comes back to the hangar. She's smiling, but she looks as apprehensive as the rest of us. "Are you ready for one last day in the courtroom?"

Ratchet straightens. "They've made a decision?"

"They have." She nods. "We're wanted there in half an hour. So fuel up and – what is it you say, Optimus? Roll out?"

There's a faint smile on Optimus' face. "I think that should cover it, yes."

No one dawdles. We're all too ready to have this part over with. I see Streetwise sneaking off again, with Ravage this time, disappearing around the corner without saying a word. I guess he's going to be sniffing around while everyone else is busy.

"I'll be glad to see the end of this building," Sideswipe grumbles behind me as we enter the courtroom. "It's starting to get on my nerves."

"Mine too." Groove is frowning, which isn't a look he wears all that often. He's generally too laid-back. "At least it's the last day."

"And then we find out if we get to bring everyone back home," Sunstreaker murmurs, and my spark drops all the way down to the bottom of my pedes.

I don't know what we're going to do if we don't get to bring everyone back home. I refuse to think about it.

Rachel walks to her seat, and silence falls. I can see how tense Optimus is from here. Ratchet is trembling.

"All rise."

We do.

The judges file in, looking very serious as they take their seats. The prosecutor almost looks like he's gloating already.

"Be seated," the judge in the middle says. "Will the defendants please rise."

They all stand up together. It looks like Optimus is holding both Decepticons up. I don't blame them.

"We have reached a verdict." The judge looks at them sternly, and I know I'm not the only one tensing up. It feels like I'm not even venting. "First. On the case of the Intergalactic Alliance versus Communications Officer Soundwave, we find the defendant not guilty."

Soundwave collapses onto his seat. Optimus practically has to pick him back up.

"This court finds that Soundwave was acting in good faith at first, and was then forced to stay loyal on threat to his family. He cannot be held responsible for Megatron's actions. The court has also taken into consideration that Soundwave sustained extensive injuries at his commander's hand, and was thus threatened into submission."

My hands are so tight on Sunstreaker's and Groove's that I'm probably leaving dents. They don't seem to even notice.

"Second. On the case of the Intergalactic Alliance versus Winglord Starscream, we find the defendant," he pauses, the slagger, making sure he has Starscream's attention before continuing. "Not criminally responsible."

Oh, thank Primus.

"The court has determined that Starscream was mistreated and conditioned to stay at Megatron's side through violence and threats. We have seen evidence of this both in submitted written materials and surveillance images, and in Starscream's own testimony. We therefore conclude that he cannot found guilty. However, this verdict conditions on Starscream continuing treatment for his mental health issues. The court is satisfied to leave the execution of said treatment to Cynosura of Cybertron, but regular reports will be required. We have also taken into consideration that Starscream's actions at the end of the war actually saved the Earth and the human race, however unintended that may have been."

So, basically, keep treating Starscream, and let Earth know how it's going. That's doable.

Two out of three. I'd collapse in relief, but this isn't over yet.

"Lastly, on the case of the Intergalactic Alliance versus Optimus Prime." The judge's sharp eyes turn to Optimus. "We find the defendant guilty."

I'm not the only one surging to my feet. Sideswipe is shouting something, and Sunstreaker is snarling, and Ratchet is frozen, staring. It's chaos.

The judge raises a hand. "Order. I'm not finished yet."

Slowly, he gets what he wants. But I'm crying, and I know I'm not the only one. Optimus looks devastated.

We can't go home without Optimus Prime. We just can't.

"Let me remind you of the charges here. The Autobots and Decepticons were both charged with multiple counts of mass murder on civilians, use of prohibited weaponry, slavery, mass destruction, attacks on unevolved planets and non-sentient species, eradication and destruction of unevolved planets and non-sentient species, genocide, and numerous counts of excessive violence." The judge looks at Optimus again. "The charges against Megatron were dropped, but this is, in essence, a dual case. The Autobots and Decepticons are charged equally. And there can be no doubt that together, both factions were responsible for the atrocities the Cybertronian civil war wrought upon the universe in general. Thus, Optimus Prime is guilty, as the leader of one part of the war. But." He holds up his hands again, probably to stave off the likely storm of protests. "This court finds Optimus Prime guilty. But it also recognizes that a large part of the blame is Megatron's, and that Optimus' actions wouldn't have been necessary without Megatron's instigations. The court has therefore decided to not pass sentence on Optimus Prime."

What?

Wait, what?

The judge seems to sense our confusion. Or maybe it's the way Optimus is gaping at him. "Instead, Cybertron as a whole has been sentenced. Your government will attempt reparations to any species or system that was damaged by your war. That includes Earth. The Cybertronian government will also accept a permanent Earth ambassador, who will be ensuring that this reparation is handled correctly. Cybertron must also seek membership in the Intergalactic Alliance, to prevent anything like this happening again."

We're all just staring at him at this point. I have a hard time wrapping my head around what's just happened.

Optimus is raising a hand. Rather brave of him, really. "May I ask a question, your honor?"

The judge nods. "You may."

"We're still rebuilding Cybertron. How soon would these reparations be expected?"

"That can be discussed. But a functioning civilization will be able to do more good than one barely scraping by. So for now, we encourage you to seek diplomatic contact with as many others as possible. When Cybertron is back on its feet, we can revisit this question." There's a hint of a smile on his face. "Though I do believe that may be a few human lifetimes from now."

Optimus looks relieved at that answer. Pit, I think we all are.

I can barely believe it.

We get to go home. All of us. We can continue as we were, rebuilding. The sparklings can grow up in peace.

It's such a relief that I can't even vent properly.

The judge smiles. "And with that, this court is adjourned. Have a safe trip home, Cybertronians."

"Oh, like hell," someone snarls, and then several things happens at once. Groove stiffens beside me, optics wide and bright. Soundwave is suddenly standing straight and tense, staring intently towards the front door. There's a loud boom from outside, shaking the building.

And the prosecutor suddenly has a giant rifle aimed at Optimus Prime.

* * *

 _A/N: I know, I'm sorry! *runs and hides behind the couch*_

 _But this chapter was threatening to become either too short or too long, I had to cut it somewhere. If it helps, I'm posting the next one on Tuesday, so you won't have to wait a whole week! And now there's just two chapters left of the story :)_


	28. The peak of everything

"Fragger," Sideswipe snarls, leaning forward and clearly ready to throw himself at the prosecutor.

The prosecutor ignores him. "If the court won't take you down a notch, we will." His body ripples, elongates, until he's nothing I recognize. He's definitely not human.

"You're T'ava'u," Tal of the Krey snarls. "Your race is banned! What is the meaning of this?"

"I'm ending this farce," the prosecutor-turned-strange-color-changing-alien replies, still aiming his gun at Optimus. He's got another, smaller one in a holster on his left side. I can't imagine he needs it – the one he's got looks like it could blow a hole straight through anything. I'm frozen, staring at the barrel pointing straight at Optimus' chest. "They don't deserve to go home in peace. Not after what they did."

"You're jeopardizing everything!" Tal of the Krey shouts. He leans forward, as if meaning to stop the T'ava'u himself. "You'll restart the war!"

He sneers, contemptuous. "The war never ended."

I can see his finger move as he pulls the trigger. There's a flash and a crack, but it's not Optimus falling to the ground. It's Starscream, crashing to the floor in front of Optimus' pedes, a smoking hole in his chest.

Ratchet is over the railing and down at the defendant stand before I have even processed what happened. Sunstreaker's running towards the front door, all five Technobots hot on his heels. Runabout and Runamuck are now crouching defensively in front of Ratchet and Optimus.

The boom comes again, and I don't know what to do.

Groove pushes me to the floor. "Streetwise says we're under attack," he says, as close to a growl as I've ever heard. "Stay here, stay hidden. I'm going to make sure the humans get clear."

"Astrotrain, Skywarp, Thundercracker! Outside!" Kup shouts. "Bluestreak, you too, lad. Arm up!"

From the corner of my eye, I see Sideswipe shoot the T'ava'u in the head. So much for finding out what's going on. But the other aliens seemed to know.

Making sure to stay hunched down, I move over to the opposite stand.

"Cassettes: eject," Soundwave intones. Rumble's cursing up a storm as he hits the floor.

There's another loud boom, and the ceiling gives way, crashing down on us. Thankfully, it's much too flimsy to do any damage to a Cybertronian, and Groove's gotten the humans out. But with the building coming down, we can't stay here.

"Everyone out!" Optimus barrels past me, Starscream cradled securely in his arms and Ratchet hot on his heels. "Set up a defensive perimeter outside! We're under attack!"

I have an irrational urge to giggle. Talk about stating the obvious.

"This is no time to lose it!" Hot Rod pushes me toward the front door. "Get out of here, Cynns, before they get the drop on us!"

I don't have to ask who 'they' are. The alien fighter jets screaming over my head answers that. Bluestreak is already in position against one of the other buildings, sniper rifle in his hand, slowly and surely taking aim. My twins are scaling the wall behind him. I can barely hear them shouting something about jet judo.

"Ratchet, Skyfire, get Starscream away from here. Cliffjumper, guard them." Optimus' voice is terse, his focus on the fliers passing overhead. "Kup, get the Alliance. The T'ava'u are long-standing enemies of theirs as well."

"No need to ask us to fight, Optimus Prime." That's the Axxai, glaring up at the skies. "We have little kindness for the T'ava'u."

Streetwise comes in full-speed, drifting to a sudden stop next to us. "There's a full squadron of them. That size, they'd need transports to get here. We need the humans in on this, Prime."

"I got through to Ameryn Clarke," Jack says. I'd forgotten about him, but there he is, side by side with several alien races and aiming his gun at the skies. Brave, brave man. "Whoever they are, their signal-blocking's crap. The Earth defense batteries are coming online as we speak."

The fliers come in over us again, and I'm thrown to the ground by the impact as they fire. There's a heavy weight over me, shielding me.

As soon as the barrage ends, big hands pull me to my feet. "You're not built for this," Astrotrain growls as he straightens me. "You're no warrior. Hide. Stay near cover. Let us handle it."

It's almost upsetting, how quickly they're warriors again. How my twins are shouting in glee as they cling to two of the fliers, pulling on wings and circuitry. Thundercracker and Skywarp are deadly in their grace overhead, Blitzwing right behind them. And Optimus, dear, sweet Optimus, has a hard cast to his optics, his blast mask closed, blaster raised to fire.

I curl up in a corner where two buildings meet and try to stay out of the way.

Astrotrain transforms and blasts into the sky. A moment later, my comms crackle to life.

::Heads up, Optimus. They have heavier support craft coming in!:: That's Skywarp, I think, and I track him as he flashes across the sky. Bluestreak is apparently watching his mate too, because the two fliers on Skywarp's tail are suddenly shot from the sky.

::Runabout, Runamuck, you mechs know how to do jet judo? We could use another pair of hands up here, if you know what I mean! There are enough of them to share!:: Sideswipe throws himself from one flier to another, nearly stopping my spark in the process.

"Technobots, flank us!" Optimus orders. "We need to make sure they can't come at us from the west. Jack, any word from Ameryn Clarke?"

"Negative." There's a steady pop-pop-pop as he fires. "They're on it, but it takes time."

Scattershot stands in front of Optimus, looking up at the skies. He doesn't show any sign of following orders. "If that's a T'ava'u support fighter coming in, you're going to need bigger guns, Optimus Prime. I think we can help."

"What –" Optimus begins, but he doesn't get the chance to say much more. In front of us, the Technobots are transforming.

In a manner I've seen before.

"HA!" Streetwise crows. "I _knew_ there was something familiar about them!"

I stare as the Technobot combiner straightens, gazing up at the attacking aliens. "Computron: will handle the incoming fighters." He raises a pair of guns as big as I am.

::Get clear!:: Optimus calls over the comms. He's clearly quicker to gather hits wits than I am, because I'm still staring at Computron.

Another gestalt. Primus.

Computron fires. So does Jack, and Bluestreak. And the three lead fliers are shot out of the sky, spiraling down towards us.

Straight into the buildings behind me. Bringing the walls down over my head.

I have enough time to curse my choice of hiding spot before something hits my head and I black out.

* * *

When I wake up again, it's a slow process. Unlike last time I woke up after an injury, I remember everything this time. And I'm keenly aware of every ache in my body. There's a warm weight on my chest.

"You know, most people actually hide when they're told to hide." The voice is wry. "Not just sit down in front of the nearest building and watch."

"Was hiding," I mumble.

"Really? Then how come we dug you from the wreckage only a few steps away from where Optimus Prime was commanding the fight?"

I finally online my optics and look past Laserbeak, snuggled up on my stomach, and up at Sideswipe. "Did we win?"

Sunstreaker snorts. "Of course we did. You didn't actually doubt that, did you?"

"Two squadrons of light fliers, five heavier support craft." Sideswipe shook his head. "Against warriors with several million years' worth of fighting experience. I don't know why they even bothered."

"It could have ended quite differently if Ameryn Clarke hadn't come through for us when she did," another voice says, and I turn my head to see Ratchet standing in the doorway. He's smiling, which is a very good sign. "Hey, sparklet. How're you feeling?"

"Like a wall fell on me," I reply, because how often am I going to be able to say that and it'll actually be true?

"I suppose it's a good thing you're made of metal now." He comes closer and takes my hand, turning it to access the port in my arm. "And before you start worrying - which you will, don't bother denying it – everyone's fine. Starscream will make a full recovery and is already back to his arrogant self. The rest of them are mainly cuts and bruises, although you should have some words with this red devil here to make sure he knows the meaning of the word 'caution' and how it applies to fighting enemy fliers." He glances at Sideswipe. "I've been trying to get through to him about that for years, and it's clearly not working."

Sideswipe grins. "Hey, I'm too awesome to get seriously injured."

Sunstreaker smacks him in the back of the head.

I watch as Ratchet connects to my diagnostic port. I'm not seriously injured, I can tell that much, but I can also tell he's done something to my motor control. My legs won't move, and I can't actually feel him holding my fingers. "What about me?"

"You'll be fine too. Do you honestly think I'd allow anything less? I had to dampen your neural net because there was a lot of shattered glass, but it should all be out now. As soon as your self-repair has taken care of the damage, I'll fix that."

"Where's Groove?"

"Right here." His voice is right behind me, and wow, Ratchet really did a number on my sensor net. I should have been able to feel him lying right behind me like this.

That's kind of embarrassing.

"Hey." I snuggle in as best as I can when I can't move below the neck.

"Hey." He kisses my helm. "We're all fine."

"Good." I blink as one particular memory suddenly comes back to me. "The Technobots are gestalt."

"Yeah." Sideswipe snorts. "Got to admit, I almost fell off my ride when I saw that. But Computron was a massive help. I'm not sure we could have held them off until the humans got their afts in gear without him. Not without serious injuries, anyway."

"Computron and the humans fought the T'ava'u ships off," Ratchet explains. "The others handled the ones on the ground. It went as well as it could, really."

Another memory surfaces, of a human form growing and stretching into something completely different. "How on Earth did we miss that the prosecutor wasn't human?"

Ratchet sighs. "To be fair, everyone missed that. The T'ava'u aren't the best of fighters, which is probably why Megatron beat them so easily back when the war started to spread out from Cybertron, but they're almost unparalleled when it comes to stealth tech and camouflage."

::That's why Megatron took them out,:: Laserbeak explains. She sounds tired – and I don't blame her, man, this trip has been a trip – but her optics are bright. ::He saw them as a threat.::

"They are a threat," Sunstreaker says darkly. "Look how close they got. If Star hadn't moved when he did –"

"Yeah, I'm not going there," Ratchet interrupts with a grim cast to his mouth. He hands me three energon cubes. "And the Alliance are just as upset as us. This won't happen again."

"True." Sideswipe snags one cube off my stomach and downs it. "The Alliance aliens feel all horrible about the whole thing – apparently, that bug alien's species is big on rules and stuff, and he's adamant that the trial is valid despite their attorney being a T'ava'u in disguise. Optimus is taking full advantage of it, of course." He chuckles. "He's talking them into a treaty as we speak."

"And the humans are way excited, since the T'ava'u ships are full of tech they've never encountered before. Hopefully we can convince them to share." Sunstreaker glances at me over the edge of his drawing pad. "That origin species of yours is very opportunistic."

"I know." I hand one cube to Groove and take a sip of the other one. "So, when are we going home?"

"Soon." Ratchet sounds extremely happy about that. "Optimus is rounding things off with the humans as we speak. As soon as he gives the word, we're leaving."

* * *

It's weird. I'd never expected I'd have to say goodbye to Earth twice in one lifetime. Well, technically one lifetime. Honestly, human Isobel feels so far away from who I am now that she might as well be another person.

And then I look at Groove and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe and am reminded of how much of me is still in here.

Astrotrain, Skyfire and Blitzwing are transformed and waiting for us on the tarmac. All that's left is to say goodbye.

It's the least heartbreaking goodbye yet.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, Optimus Prime." Ameryn Clarke smiles.

"The honor and privilege is mine," Optimus replies. "We are very grateful for your assistance. And we welcome the trade opportunities."

"As do we." She nods and takes one step backwards. "Safe travels, Cybertronians. You will hear from us soon."

When the formal goodbyes are done with, it's the informal ones. And they're a bit upsetting. I'm getting used to the fact that I'll never meet the same humans over again. So saying goodbye to Jack and Dominic and Rachel… Yeah, it hurts.

"I'm so happy to have met you," I murmur, my holoform hugging Rachel tight. "You're a credit to him, you know."

"Thanks." She smiles as she lets me go. "It was an honor to meet you, Cynosura. Isobel. Take good care of your family, 'kay?"

"You know I will."

Jack's hug reminds me of Alice in the best way, even though he's very different form his ancestor. "When you have kids, find a way to send their pictures to Cybertron," I insist. "I want to see your family thriving."

He grins. "Sure thing. If you field the cost of trans-galactic messaging."

Dominic just hugs me and smiles. I guess there's not much to say.

Sooner than I'd thought, we're back onboard the shuttles. Ratchet pulled some strings and got all three carriers together, which means I'm traveling with Blitzwing for the return trip. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker saunter onto Astrotrain like they belong there, and Bluestreak and Skywarp, Soundwave and Thundercracker all board Skyfire. Somehow I end up flying with Ratchet and Optimus, Groove, Starscream, Cliffjumper and, strangely enough, Hot Rod.

I think it'll be a good trip.

Blitzwing is different from Skyfire. He doesn't talk as much, and he doesn't want anyone but Prime and Ratchet in the cockpit, but he's got a friendly vibe to him and laughs easily at jokes. The dirtier the better, too. He's getting along great with Hot Rod, which doesn't bode well for anybody.

We're only a few days out when Ratchet insists on doing a check on the carriers. Blitzwing doesn't really have a medbay, per se, but he's got a big open lounge space. And there's no privacy to be had, so it's a good thing Groove isn't shy. Everyone can see his spark as his chest plates split aside.

I can't look away from my sparkling, though. I can see him there, spinning lazily around Groove's spark, a brilliant little flash of light that's suddenly the center of my existence.

"Great, you're healthy. He'll be a while yet, but you should probably get your driving needs fulfilled while you can." Ratchet pats Groove's shoulder. "Go ahead and close up. I just want to check the status of your gestation chamber and mineral levels. Arm, please."

Groove is a good patient. I guess he'd have to be, since he has a medic for a brother.

I can't wait to get home and tell First Aid everything. Pit, I can't wait to get home to First Aid, period.

"Um, Ratchet?"

"Not now, Optimus. You're next."

" _Ratchet!_ " There's almost terror in Optimus' voice, which I've absolutely never heard before. Worry, sure. Apprehension, definitely. Plain, true fear? No. "Ratchet, look!"

Ratchet isn't the only one turning. So we all get to see Optimus' chest plates slide open right there. And judging from the expression on Optimus' face, he's not the one controlling it.

"Slag!" Ratchet yelps, darting over the floor to connect to his mate. "He's not supposed to emerge yet! What are your protocols saying?" He's got hold of Optimus' arm, sliding the cover to his medical port aside. "Hang on, I'm going to stall the process, try to override the routine, okay? We don't want him born yet, he's not – wait a minute, that's not…"

"Not what?" Cliffjumper asks. He's standing defensively in front of Starscream for some reason, as if he needs to protect him from the scares of premature emergence.

"It's not the sparkling," Optimus says, wonder and disbelief in his voice. "It's – it's the _Matrix_."

I bet that later, we'll all have different theories on what actually happened. Different stories we tell. But for now, the truth is strange enough. And the truth is that the Matrix is detaching from Optimus Prime.

And considering that we're all there, staring, it's almost strange that Hot Rod is the only one to react when the artifact slips free and falls to the floor.

The moment he catches it, I'm blinded. The flash of light is so intense, I have to turn away. And the voice, wherever it comes from, is loud enough and deep enough to vibrate right through my struts.

 _"_ _Arise, Rodimus Prime."_

The light fades, slowly. Hot Rod is still there, though he seems to have matured suddenly – and unless I'm wrong, he's a little taller. He looks stronger, too, older, but the shocked expression on his face is all Roddy. "What – what happened?"

Predictably, Ratchet's the one to find his voice first. He pats Optimus' now closed chest distractedly, still staring at Hot Rod. He sounds as dazed as I feel. "Well, you did say you'd like to retire and have more time for your family."

Optimus just nods, clearly shell-shocked.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Hot Rod is Rodimus now, and he's a Prime. He's probably the most surprised by that out of all of us. The Matrix fused with his spark chamber, just like it had Optimus', and now it won't come out._

 _It's by far the weirdest thing that's happened on this trip, and that's actually saying something._

 _Roddy tried to get it out. He tried to say that he wasn't a Prime, he's just a kid. But that damn relic is stuck in there._

 _I don't blame him for feeling a bit overwhelmed. A lot overwhelmed. I'll keep my eyes on him, but I think he'll cope. He's got this indomitable spirit. And he's got Optimus and Ratchet looking out for him. Optimus still looks the same, which confuses Ratchet – apparently, he used to look different before he got the Matrix, just like Roddy, and he hasn't reverted back. Then again, there haven't been that many cases of the Matrix just up and leaving a fully functional Prime._

 _Which means that, right now, we have two Primes. Or a Prime and a Prime-in-training, I guess. They're going to have some sort of job-shadowing arrangement until the sparkling is born, and after that Optimus will stay on in an advisory capacity. Rodimus won't be left on his own._

 _Honestly, I think this could be good for everyone. Rodimus is young, yeah, but he's a sweetheart. He'll do well. And Optimus has been the leader through an entire war. He deserves to retire and spend time with his family._

 _Maybe the Matrix actually heard his wishes somehow._

 _We're almost home. We'll be back on Cybertron in a few days' time. I can't wait. I can almost feel First Aid coming closer when Groove and I merge. When we do get home, I'm taking both of them home and we're going to hide away for a few days._

 _Optimus commed ahead, letting Ultra Magnus and the rest know we're on our way back and safe. He's told the Council about Rodimus, too. I'm curious what they'll make of him._

 _I can almost picture Ultra Magnus' face when he learned. Good thing Roddy will get some training before he has to take over._

* * *

It's the first time I get to watch as we approach Cybertron. Last time, I was unconscious. It's very different from when we approached Earth. Earth is a sapphire gem in space. Cybertron is this brilliant, gleaming, lit-from-within orb, reflecting light back out into the darkness.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Ratchet nods towards the planet we're approaching. "You should have seen it in its heyday. Bright lights everywhere, Iacon and Vos and Praxus and the other cities shining like sparks on the surface."

"Kaon like a sore," Blitzwing says. "It might have been pretty on your end, doc, but it sure wasn't on ours."

"I'm not saying I want a return to the Golden age," Ratchet replies. "There were a lot more things wrong than right. Besides, I'm enjoying the peace." He puts a hand on Blitzwing's bulkhead. "I think we all are."

"Yeah." Blitzwing's voice is quiet, subdued. "Ya know what would have happened if I'd gotten sparked under Megatron's rule?"

"I don't want to think about it."

I'm still curious about Blitzwing's sparkling. But I know better than to ask. If he wanted it known by everyone, he would have said.

"We're coming up on our approach vector now," he says abruptly, and I don't blame him for changing the topic. "Go sit."

Approach vector.

We're almost home.

I barely feel Blitzwing moving. But I notice when he banks sharply, showing the buildings of Pax Novum outside the portholes. And I notice when he lands.

It's torment, having to sit still and wait to be told I can get out of the shuttle. Groove laughing at me doesn't help.

"He's right outside," he whispers, leaning in. "Waiting for us. He's almost vibrating."

He's not the only one.

"Okay," Blitzwing says finally. "Get out of me so I can stretch my legs."

He doesn't have to ask me twice. I'm pulling Groove out with me at a dead run before he's even finished his sentence.

I dart past Starscream and Cliffjumper. Speed down the ramp. Vaguely notice a welcoming committee, and wave at Jazz and Prowl and Arcee, and then he's there.

First Aid's bracing for impact. It does him absolutely no good. I crash into him so hard I knock him over, and we hit the ground with a crash.

"Isobel." His arms tighten around me. "Primus, I've missed you. Hey, bro."

"Hey." Groove sounds like he's smiling. "Please tell me you have the rest of the day off."

"The rest of the day, tomorrow, the day after… Hook threw me out for the rest of the week." First Aid grins. "Seems he thought I would have other things on my mind."

"Sounds like he knows you." Groove takes my hand. "Come on, let's go home."

Oh, definitely. But I can't just run off like that. "We can't leave yet. I need to talk to Optimus first, maybe there's some form of debrief or something. And I need to make sure Starscream's okay, and –"

There's a snort from behind me. "Like you could focus on any of that right now."

I frown. Or, it's supposed to be a frown, but judging from the look on Ratchet's face it's probably closer to a pout. "I could. If I had to."

"Precisely. And you don't have to." He smiles at me, taking any sting out of the words. "Go home, sparklet. Starscream'll be fine. Optimus will probably call a meeting in a few days' time, that's more than sufficient to plan anything. You're not the only one who's been ready for some peace and privacy."

Well. He's probably right about that. And First Aid and Groove, traitors that they are, take the chance to just grab me and pull me away. Not that I fight very hard. But I manage to shout a goodbye in Optimus' general direction, at least.

His optics crinkle, and I get the distinct feeling he's laughing at me. I don't care.

I lean in to First Aid's hold on me and purr in his audial. "Take me home."

* * *

Someone should probably talk to First Aid about using sirens outside of emergencies. It got us home really fast, though, so I'm not complaining.

As soon as the apartment door closes behind us, First Aid drops to his knees and pulls Groove close, nuzzling his chest plating. "Hi, baby. I'm your other sire, and I love you."

I can't not smile at the sight. "Guess you've been waiting for that, huh? When did Groove tell you?"

"I told him as soon as I was sure." Groove has this incredibly dopey fond look on his face.

"You didn't tell me as much as completely fail to hide that something was up," First Aid says, still with that baby-talk voice. "And I'm a medic, so I knew what was up when he let it slip that his spark ached and he was tired, didn't I, sweetling? Yes, I did. Your carrier is very kind and very brave and very good, but I'm smarter than he is."

"Marginally." Groove smiles and rests one hand on First Aid's back. "It's good to be home, Aid."

First Aid kisses Groove's plating and stands back up. I yelp when he snags me, pulling me in until we're flush against each other. "I did miss you. All the time. And I realized something."

Groove steps up and presses against my back. "I agree with you."

I have no idea what we're talking about. "Care to enlighten the ex-human? You have the benefit of being in each other's head already, I don't."

"That's just it." First Aid smiles, nuzzles my cheek. "I want you in my head all the time. I never want to be away from you without knowing if you're okay ever again. I want you in my spark."

I stare at him again. "Are you saying…?"

Suddenly, he drops down on one knee. "Isobel Cynosura Harrison, will you bond with us? Will you join your spark to ours, making us one for all eternity?"

Groove's arms sneak around my waist as he nips gently at my throat. "What he said."

Holy epic _everything_.

My brain's not working.

First Aid seems to take my silence as reluctance. He takes my hand, kissing my palm and fingers. "I realize it's sudden. And we can wait, if you want. We haven't even talked about this before, and I don't know if you want a big ceremony or if you hate the idea of commitment like that, or anything. I just know I adore you. And I want us forever." He looks up at me, almost pleading. "Please say something."

"Yes," I say, because of course I do. "Yes, yes, absolutely, oh my God, are you serious!? Please be serious?"

He laughs at me, the slagger, and then he jumps up at us, pressing his lips to mine. And I can't vent, and I don't mind, because _First Aid and Groove want to bond with me and I don't care about anything else right now_.

Soon First Aid pulls back and it's Groove instead, holding me close and kissing me within an inch of my life, and I don't want him to ever stop. I don't want either of them to ever stop.

Somehow, we end up on the berth. I'm not surprised. They're both there, right there, kissing and touching and so, so real in front of me, and I'd be crying of happiness if I wasn't too busy reciprocating.

"Mine," First Aid whispers, lips tracing a path down my plating. "Mine forever."

"Ours," Groove counters, claiming my lips for his. "Love you so much."

I can't find my voice. It doesn't even matter.

"We can do whatever you want." Groove sighs, optics dimming as I find that point on his back that always just melts him. "Big ceremony. Small ceremony. Elope. Anything."

"Right now," I manage, arching as First Aid's clever fingers tease down my side. "Please. Bond with me right now."

First Aid's optics are bright in the dim room. "Really? You're sure?"

Of course I am, can't he tell? "Aren't you?"

"I'll bond with you in an instant." He kisses my hand again. "But I don't want you to feel like you're missing out on a celebration, if that's what you want."

"There'll be plenty of celebrations." I'm sure there will be. It's not like we've seen the end of bondings. And I don't know what Cybertronians do for sparklings, but I'm sure throwing a massive party for ours. "There'll be plenty of excuses for parties. I want this with you right now. No witnesses. No formal ceremony. Just us." I manage to grab their hands in mine. "I have no doubts. Please."

First Aid looks at me for a moment longer before groaning and almost throwing himself at me. His mouth is eager, devouring, and then Groove's there as well, and it's the clumsiest, strangest three-way kiss I've ever experienced, but it's perfect.

The click of First Aid's chest plates opening is almost drowned out by our cooling fans. But there's no mistaking that glow. Another click, then one more, and the light of all our sparks is blending.

"I don't know how to do this," I whisper. We've merged plenty of times, as the sparkling in Groove's chest is proof of, but I've never bonded anyone before.

"It's in the intent." First Aid settles over me, half on his side, until our sparks almost touch. "Focus on wanting to bond."

I haven't focused on anything else for the last few minutes. And now, as both First Aid and Groove slowly lower their chests over mine, all I can think of is that soon I'll be a part of those sparks. I'll be able to feel them in my mind, to know where they are and how they are and how much they love me at any given point in time.

I can't wait.

It's familiar, at first. Feeling them in my mind like this. Groove is bright and steady, First Aid eager and passionate, and there's a small flash of something extra that I'm suddenly realizing is our sparkling, thriving and dancing in the glow of all three sparks.

"Now," First Aid whispers, and as if on cue, the spark-touch changes. Suddenly there's a need behind the contact, searching and offering.

I lean into it, offering myself up. Instantly, the feeling of First Aid intensifies, until it's hard to tell where he ends and I begin. I yearn further, searching for the missing piece, and then Groove's there, slotting in as if made to fit alongside us. And then we're spinning together, faster and faster, blurring out the boundaries and slipping away from ourselves and going higher and higher and higher and –-

* * *

I come to slowly. Aware that I'm warm, comfortable, _loved_. I'm heavy, and my spark is singing, and I know I'll never be alone anymore.

I can feel First Aid stirring in my spark before his hand moves on my back. Feel Groove, still deep in recharge, and holding on to me even so. I can focus on my feelings for them, focus on the pulse of my spark, and a moment later, feel return pulses of love and adoration.

We're not three. We're one. And we can take whatever comes next, because we'll never be apart again.

Lulled by the sense of love and safety, by the two presences in my spark with me, I slip back to recharge between my bondmates.

* * *

 _A/N: I've had a song in my head for their bonding since… way back. So if you want to listen to the song that was on repeat while that scene was written, look up Daniel's joik on Youtube._


	29. Bright new future

_A/N: Part of this chapter references "Artistic liberties", part 3 of this series. You don't need to have read it, but it adds something to the scene._

* * *

I'm fairly sure there has never been this many mecha in the hospital's emergence room. Not even when Optimus was in Groove's stead. It's a good thing Groove isn't shy. The room is barely big enough to fit everyone, and as it is Optimus himself wouldn't fit if he hadn't been standing in the doorway. Ratchet groused louder and louder for every new mech who came in, but I can tell he doesn't mind. Not really.

And it's not like we'd let this happen without our whole family being there.

Hot Spot and Streetwise and Blades, hovering closer than necessary, excited optics locked on Groove's chest. Slingshot, leaning against Blades' back. Ratchet, monitoring everything despite technically being on creator leave, and Optimus with tiny Roller held close to his chest. Jazz and Prowl, both observing closely, and I'm so going to tease Jazz about staring this hard when it's his turn to be in Groove's position. Slagger. It can't be that much longer for them, considering Jazz was carrying before we left Cybertron. They managed to keep it a secret a lot longer than we did – which wasn't hard, since we spilled everything the first time someone saw us in public after we bonded – and only they and Ratchet really know when that sparkling's due, but I bet it'll be soon.

Behind the crowd, against the wall, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are smiling at me. They're so excited to be uncles, it's adorable.

I may be happier than I've ever been.

First Aid smiles at us. "Everything's going well." Under my hand, Groove's chest plates part slightly.

"Of course it is." Groove is relaxed, as usual, and I nuzzle his helm. Him being so calm helps me, because I'm almost trembling. "He hasn't given us any problems until now, why should he start?"

"Don't jinx it," Ratchet mutters, but there's no tension in his words.

I feel it as Groove's chest opens further.

"Not long now," First Aid says, all professional. I can feel it in my spark, how his bright presence turns focused. Groove is a mellow pulse next to him.

Love you two to bits. I'm still new at this bond-speak thing, but the smiles I get in return tells me I got through.

I love all three of you. First Aid rests his head against his brother's for a moment. I still can't believe we're going to be a family.

Believe it. There's a hint of laughter to Groove's words. Because I can feel him wanting out.

I let my hand follow Groove's chest plates as they open fully, barely avoiding the lubricants rushing out. He leans slightly forward on the berth.

"Cynosura, get ready to catch him," First Aid instructs calmly. He's glancing from Groove to the monitors and back, a broad smile on his face. "Any moment now."

I bend forward, hands flat under Groove's chest cavity. It feels strange to see it like this – I've seen that spark often, I know it as well as my own at this point, but I've never seen it like this before, with a shining orb of metal protruding beneath it. Slowly, surely, the orb slides forward.

Suddenly, I have our sparkling in my hands.

First Aid is there instantly, cleaning off the orb with a soft cloth, and I'm watching in complete captivation as the orb segments in my hands. The pieces slide apart, revealing soft, unmarked metal, and I realize I was wrong before.

This, looking down at our sparkling, is the happiest I've ever been. Ever.

His optics brighten, sea-green and clear, and tiny fingers open and close. One tiny pede kicks up, short and round and still bare of recognizable features. First Aid runs the cloth over his head, pushing away the last orb pieces from the soft sparkling metal.

And he is soft, I can feel it. Soft and warm and infinitely breakable in my hands, and I know instantly that there's nothing I won't do for my child. No danger I won't stand in the way of if it means he'll be safe. Nothing I won't give. I know to the core of me that I will give my life for this tiny precious one if it's necessary.

I don't even notice I'm crying until First Aid lifts another cloth to my cheek, drying the tears away.

"Hey, baby," Groove coos. "Primus, you're the most beautiful thing I ever saw."

"He's healthy." First Aid's voice is soft, smitten. "Look at him. He's perfect."

I raise my hands, lean down over our sparkling – Primus, our sparkling! – until I can press my lips to his head. "Hi, Casper. I love you."

"Casper?"

I look up, meet Sideswipe's optics. "My father's name. Richard Casper Harrington."

"We wanted him to have something of Earth, at least for now," First Aid explains softly. "Since he's got an Earth heritage. And since we never got to meet Isobel's father…"

"… this seemed like a good way to honor him," Groove finishes for him.

I put my baby on Groove's closed chest plates and slide onto the berth next to him. I want to be as close as possible. On the other side of me, First Aid disconnects the monitoring equipment and does the same, adjusting the berth to fit all three of us.

"Alright, show's over." Ratchet's voice is gruff, which I know means he's very emotional. "Get out of here and let them bond in peace."

Not that it's that easy. We're hugged and kissed and cuddled by everyone there before the room empties. The twins are the last ones to leave, Sunstreaker staring intently at us in the way I've learned means he's taking an endless series of image captures to paint later. Sideswipe grins as he ushers his brother out, and then the door closes. We're alone.

I stretch to press a kiss to Groove's lips. "I love you, you know. Thank you so much."

First Aid eases the berth back until we're lying flat, and I cuddle closer to Groove. Casper is gazing up at us from Groove's chest, nearly hidden beneath First Aid's hand and mine. As I watch, his optics dim gradually until he's in recharge.

Groove's optics are dimming too. Emergence isn't painful and exhausting like giving birth the human way is, but I can feel how tired he is over the bond.

"Recharge," First Aid whispers. "We'll be right here."

Like I'd dream of going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere ever again.

I'm going to stay right here, with my family.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_

 _Casper is growing so fast! I know it'll take vorns and vorns before he's an adult, but his growth far surpasses a human baby. He's already doubled in size, can sit up and scoot around on his own, and puts absolutely everything in his mouth. We though the house was already babyproof, but we were so wrong. So while Casper was napping today, we completely redid the first floor. There is now nothing in sparkling-height that can be detached or be even remotely dangerous for him to chew on._

 _Optimus and Ratchet have been by a few times. Roller is growing too, but he was always bigger than Casper. He's remarkably calm, considering who his sire is, but even Ratchet has mellowed a lot since we came back from Earth. I guess having no big problems to worry about has helped him too._

 _Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were here yesterday. Sunny completely adores Casper, and I think we have a willing babysitter there whenever we need it. He brought this series of absolutely gorgeous sketches of us at the hospital. I cried when I saw them, which flustered Sunny no end, of course. And Sides makes fun of his brother, but I've seen the way he looks at the sparklings. He's over the moon about each and every one, even Blitzwing's little Tag. It's completely adorable._

 _I hope they find a third soon. They would be amazing parents._

 _Sunstreaker also, rather shyly I might add, delivered invitations to the exhibition next month. It's a big deal, he's been working on it for ages, and it's set up to mark the opening of the New Cybertronian Museum. Grapple has apparently outdone himself on the design of the building. Even Level hasn't been able to distract him from the project. I'm really excited to see it. It'll be good to get the Cybertronian culture scene started again._

 _The opening also marks the official beginning of Rodimus' reign as Prime. Optimus is stepping down fully. He kind of has already – Rodimus has Springer and Ultra Magnus and the rest, he's doing well. And it's not like Optimus is going far, so Rodimus can still ask his advice if he needs to. If I know Roddy right, though, he won't need to. Kid is turning into a really good Prime._

 _Heh. I can feel First Aid in my spark. He had to go to work today – the hospital was struggling with both him and Ratchet on creator leave, so both of them have had to pull a few shifts. But he's on his way home, and he's missed us terribly, and he loves us all to bits._

 _I'll never get tired of feeling that._

* * *

"You ready to go inside?" Groove smiles at me.

"Yup." I secure my grip on Casper – he's already leaning away from me, gawking at everything, trying to take in all the shapes and colors. "Let's go see."

The new gallery is as grand as Grapple promised. It's all pale, polished metal and organic rock, blended together to show off the best of both materials. And the line to get inside already stretches around the corner of the building.

Luckily I know one of the artists really well.

Cliffjumper grins as we approach the VIP entrance, but it's not at me. "Aw, look at the little bit. He's a curious bitlet, ain't he?"

"He'd absorb everything if he could," I confirm. First Aid hands over our tickets, not that Cliffjumper checks them much. "Is it crowded in there yet?"

"Getting to be." He reaches up to tickle Casper's chin. "That's what you get when all of command shows up, isn't it, bitlet? Yes, it is. Yes, it is. You're so cute I could just eat you up."

Casper giggles at the attention and hides his face in my throat.

"Starscream?" I don't really expect him to be here, and Cliffjumper confirms it by shaking his head.

"Star's not there, but he says hi. The crowd's still a bit much for him to handle."

Starscream has improved at an unbelievable pace. It's hard to reconcile the bold, cocky, smirking Winglord prancing around the Council building with the wreck of a mech I saw at our first session. He's living alone now, though Cliffjumper made sure to get a small place in the same building just in case. He seems to be happy to watch his charge from afar, and only intervenes when he feels it's necessary.

Like when Rodimus and Starscream take the flirting a bit too far. Roddy's going to earn himself a stern talking-to from Cliffjumper one of these days.

"Anyway, Optimus and everybody are inside already," Cliffjumper says, finally looking away from the sparkling. "You'll probably bump into them at some point."

I ignore the way some of the Neutrals in the other line stare at hearing Optimus' name dropped so casually. Not everyone's familiar with the new way of governing the planet yet, and Optimus still gets a lot of awe and attention.

"Thanks, Cliffjumper." I turn Casper a bit in my arms, to let Cliffjumper see him better. "Can you say thank you, Cas?"

He can't, really. But he chirps happily, reaching for Cliffjumper's fingers. It takes another minute before we can tear ourselves away and go inside.

The inside of the gallery is as grand as the outside. There are several floors, several wings, and I glance at the directory as we pass by – 'Classical Cybertron', 'Cities and places', 'Portraits', 'Modern Art', 'Sculpture and shape', and finally, 'Anniversary exhibition'. We follow the crowd towards the back end of the building.

Casper spots them first. He clicks and beeps eagerly in my arms, leaning and pointing, so of course I go where he's indicating. I'm not a sucker for my sparkling's antics, not at all. Groove is the pushover, not me. Really.

Well, maybe not really.

Optimus towers over most other mecha, so he's easy to find. A flash of white turns out to be Ratchet by his side. He has a curious sparkling in his arms too.

"Look, Casper, there's Roller!" Groove points at the small form in Ratchet's arms, before whisking our sparkling straight out of mine. "Want to go say hi?"

And then they're gone.

I link my arm through First Aid's, his indulgent happiness clear in the bond. "Do you think we'll see him again before we're ready to leave?"

"Honestly?" I shake my head. "Groove's been waiting for a chance to show him off properly for weeks. We're lucky if we see either of them again at all before we leave."

Roller squeaks and fights harder when he sees his friend. I can see Ratchet rolling his eyes from here. "Great, you had to rile him up even further. Now we'll never get him to nap later."

I look at the so-called riled up Roller. He's the calmest sparkling I've ever met, and now is no exception. He's bouncing a bit, squeaking a bit, but compared to the Houdini-esque wiggles Casper tries to use, Roller's practically sedate.

Optimus turns towards us as we approach. "My friends. It's good to see you."

"Likewise." I lean in and way up to press a kiss to his cheek. "You look good. Retirement seems to suit you."

"Thank you." He smiles at his mate and sparkling. "I finally got my happily ever after, I think. I have everything I could have ever wished for." Casper chooses that moment to practically throw himself from his carrier's arms and cling to a yelping Ratchet's shoulder. Optimus laughs. "Rambunctious, isn't he? I'm looking forward to get to know him as he grows."

"You and us both." First Aid reaches out and gently frees Ratchet from the pressure of tiny fingers. "Be nice to Ratchet, Cas. He's the one who fixes you when you're hurt." Just as First Aid fixes Roller whenever something's wrong, because neither sire will work on their own sparkling.

Casper babbles and reaches for Roller again.

"Maybe there's a space where we can put them down for a bit?" Ratchet suggests, as Roller finally tires of being sedate and begins scaling his sire's frame to get closer to Casper. "Keep my sanity intact for a little while longer?"

"I believe Prowl and Jazz found somewhere," Optimus agrees. "Come on, let's go see if we can find them. We should have time before the official opening."

It doesn't take long to find them. Even with the crowds beginning to fill the gallery, it's easy to follow the noise to where Jazz is hovering in a doorway, singing softly and indulgently watching the scene inside.

It's a break room of sorts, with low lounges and couches and a wash station on one wall. It looks like it was designed with sparklings in mind, which, knowing Grapple, it probably was. There's a corner with plush, soft floor covers, a bunch of toys, and a vidscreen set to some mindless Earth entertainment.

Figures. Even on Cybertron we get cartoons.

In the middle of it all, smiling as happily and as tranquilly as I've ever seen him, sits Prowl. He doesn't seem to mind the fact that his fingers are being used as chew toys, or that there's a stain of something that looks like regurgitated energon on his bumper.

In his lap, happily playing with their own pedes, their sire's fingers, and each other's flailing limbs, lie Toggle and Beep.

Jazz got quite the attention for being the first on post-war Cybertron to bear twins. Especially since no one had been told there were two before they emerged. Jazz took it all in stride, of course, saying something about twins running in the family and how there were so many sparkling-crazed mecha out there now that getting some help if they needed it wouldn't be a problem.

Not that they have needed any help at all so far. Not with Prowl so enamored with his sparklings that he rarely lets them out of his sight.

Casper squeals in excitement when he sees his tiniest playmates, and suddenly it's all Groove can do to keep him from throwing himself to the ground. And Cas becomes absolutely furious when his carrier doesn't listen.

"It's alright." Prowl chuckles lightly, one finger running down Toggle's back. "You can let him down. They'll be happy to see him."

Technically, Toggle and Beep are still young enough to be happy for any distraction, especially one with big optics and familiar sounds. Groove just smiles, though, and puts Casper down on the floor. Where he promptly scooches over to Prowl's knee, and leans forward to stare at the bitlets.

Ratchet puts Roller down as well, and luckily Prowl doesn't seem to mind being surrounded by eager sparklings. Made to be a parent, that one.

First Aid touches my arm, and looks at Optimus. "I think the time for the announcement is coming up. Should we go watch?"

"Definitely." Optimus waits until Prowl looks at him and nods, though, before moving away from the crèche room.

I pause to wait for Groove, but he waves me on. "Come on. I'll catch up once this one settles a bit."

I glance at the energetic sparkling crawling around on the floor. "Okay. Let us know if it goes on long enough that you should just leave, okay?"

Groove winks. "Count on it."

At that, we finally tear ourselves away and follow Optimus. He seems to know where he's going, at least, and I'm glad he's tall enough that we can keep up easily.

We walk into the next room, maneuver our way through the crowd. I startle when someone calls my name.

Up ahead stands Rodimus. He's on a dais of sorts, slightly elevated from the floor, waving eagerly. Sunstreaker stands next to him, almost sullen in comparison.

"Guess we're saying hi before the official opening." Optimus looks unrepentant. In fact, there's something almost sly about the way he's glancing at me as we ford through the crowd and up to the dais.

"Cynosura!" Rodimus' smile is brilliant. "Good day so far? Have you looked at the art?" He makes a gesture that somehow encompasses the whole room, covered art on the walls and everything. "I think it might be right up your alley."

Sunstreaker growls at him. I can tell he's restraining himself from doing something aggressive only because pushing the Prime doesn't look good.

"We only just got here," First Aid explains. He's looking strangely at Rodimus too, so at least it's not just me. "It looks like half of Cybertron turned up, doesn't it?"

"Almost all of Cybertron, in fact." Rodimus somehow manages to say it without sounding arrogant. He flashes Optimus a grin. "And with that, I think it's time for my speech."

Rodimus has more energy than anyone else I've ever met. Including my son. I kind of dread when Cas is older and they get to spend time together. We're going to have to peel them off the ceiling.

Rodimus steps up to the edge of the dais. There's a white mark taped on the floor behind a microphone stand that he places himself directly on top of, before looking around to find the discretely placed cameras and choosing the best angle. Then he taps the microphone briefly, smiling widely at the attention he gets.

Yep. There's still a lot of Hot Rod in there.

"Citizens of Cybertron!" His voice echoes around the gallery, and a hush falls over the crowd. It becomes quiet enough that I imagine I can hear Casper's excited squeal all the way here. "Three vorn ago, we came back from Earth to a war-ravaged Cybertron. Our planet was dead, barren, almost torn to shreds. And look at it now!" He throws out both arms, forcing Optimus to take a hurried step back to avoid being smacked in the chest. "I am so proud of all the work we've put in. Cybertron is thriving again, thanks to your efforts. And we have lasting peace, with no more factions. More Cybertronians, both returning from the edges of space and born new to us, are arriving all the time, and we have good relations with other alien planets." He smiles broadly. "And so, in honor of the peace, the people, and a thriving Cybertron, I want to declare this exhibition, and the New Cybertronian Museum, open for viewing!" He steps aside, giving a grand bow in response to the applause, and gestures to Sunstreaker.

My brother is not one for public speaking. He's not one for speaking like this at all, really. I can see Sideswipe in the front of the crowd, nodding along to what his brother's saying, and I have no doubt he's speaking along with him over the bond. They've probably rehearsed this until every word comes without thinking.

"When the Primes approached me about this project, I first wasn't sure what to depict. There is so much good about Cybertron as it is now, so much that should be remembered about Cybertron how it was back before the war. We've lost a lot. But we've gained a lot. So in honor of what we have, and what we remember," he pauses and grasps a white rope that hangs from the ceiling, "I give you: 'Cybertron in glory'."

He pulls the rope, and I stare.

I knew Sunstreaker was talented. Slag, everyone knows Sunstreaker is talented. But this… This is beyond words.

There are pictures on every wall. And I recognize each and every one of them.

Opposite me, in prime of place, hangs a large mural of the Cybertronian cities as they were. He seems to have tried to put as many in there as he could, and he's managed without making it look cluttered. Iacon on one end blends easily to Tetrahex blends to Tyger Pax blends to Altihex blends to Vos blends to Praxus blends to Tarn blends to Kaon, with countless others mixed in between, and nothing is given precedence over anything else.

It's absolutely beautiful. But it's the left wall that captures and keeps my attention.

It's another mural, this one of mecha. Landing at the spaceport, disembarking their craft with awe on their faces. Old friends meeting up – there's one of Beachcomber and Hound that's very touching. A close-up of Bluestreak and Skywarp from their bonding ceremony, focused on their faces as they're forehead to forehead. Rodimus, clasping hands with Soundwave and a newly-arrived neutral. Swerve's, full of happy customers. Eject and Laserbeak, playing in the fountain in front of the council building. Sparklings – Tag in Blitzwing's arms, Roller in Ratchet's. There's even a large version of one of the sketches we have at home, of the three of us with a newly-emerged Casper in the hospital.

I'm crying again. It's just so goddamn beautiful.

Rodimus smiles at me. "You haven't seen the best part yet." He takes me by the shoulder and turns be around.

There, next to the doorway we came in through, is a series of pictures of me.

Not mech me. Human me. Naked human me, at that.

It's the pictures from when Sunstreaker painted on my skin back on Earth. The pictures Rewind took of me after. I've looked at them a couple of times, but I've never seen them like this. Sunstreaker's taken the image captures and painted his own work anew.

I'm walking closer before I realize it. Someone's right behind me, but I don't turn around to see who it is.

I thought they were individual images, but they're not. Sunstreaker's blended them together at the edges and made one large piece of art. Primus, it must have taken him ages.

"Is that a human?" someone asks. "With pictures of Cybertron on her flesh?"

"Yes," Sunstreaker says from behind me. Of course it's him back there. "Yes, that's a human. Her name was Isobel Harrington. We worked very closely with her on Earth." He steps up next to me, glances at me from the corner of his optic as he pitches his voice low enough that it's for me alone. "Is this okay? I know I should have asked, but you did give me blanket permission to do with them as I wished."

"More than," I breathe. "Primus, Sunstreaker. This is just as beautiful now as it was back then."

One of the returned neutrals looks at me. "You knew this human too?"

I giggle at that. Luckily, they don't look offended. "Yes, I knew her well. I was there when Sunstreaker painted these images on her body." I smile at the memory. "She complained that it tickled."

I stand there for a few minutes longer before taking Sunstreaker's hand and pulling him away, into a corner. Where I hug him so tightly I think he would have broken something if he'd had thinner plating.

"I am so fragging proud of you, Sunny." And damn, now I'm crying again. "You are so amazing, and so good, and I just love you so much, you have no idea."

Someone – Sideswipe, from the glimpse of red in the corner of my vision and the fact that Sunstreaker doesn't object – comes up behind me and hugs us both. "We love you too, Isobel."

"You like it?" Sunstreaker sounds awed, almost young. "Really?"

"Are you kidding?" I lean up until I can kiss his cheek. "This is so slagging beautiful I don't even know how to take it in. I could watch this for hours."

A large hand lands on Sunstreaker's shoulder. "It is truly exquisite work, my friend."

And suddenly, they're all there. Optimus, with Ratchet cradling Roller. Rodimus, beaming happily at us. First Aid and Groove, carrying a half-asleep Casper.

I step into my mates' arms and let them pull me close. "Did you see? He painted us. He painted _me_."

"We saw, love." First Aid smiles at Sunstreaker. "It's gorgeous work."

"My bro's the best," Sideswipe says with a grin, and there's no boasting in it. Just the truth. Sunstreaker blushes anyway, bless him.

I lean into Groove's reassuring hold, let First Aid dry the tears off my face again. I seem to be crying a lot lately. Probably because I'm so happy.

First Aid takes my hand. "Come on. Let's get a closer look."

I don't really need a closer look. I'm more than overwhelmed already. But everything's too perfect right now for me to refuse.

And besides, these are pictures of my home. Of my family.

I put my arm around Groove's waist and let them pull me into the chaos and life that Cybertron has become. I know there's more to see. And I can't wait.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _And that's it. The end of more than three years of work. If I'd posted this in six days, it would be the three-year anniversary of the day the first chapter of "You had me at 'holoform'" went up on ._  
 _I want to thank you for sticking with this. Seeing your responses to each chapter has been a blast, and has kept me motivated, and I'm extremely fond of each and every one of you. Look me up on Twitter ( RhieraLouise) if you haven't already!_

 _Also, this is the last work I'm posting on . I'm not done writing by far, but I much prefer using Ao3, so I'll stay there from now on. And I'm BlushLouise there too, and if you can't get on Ao3, I have a handful of invites to give out. Send me a PM if you want one! I'm not deleting anything from , and I'll try to answer messages, though looking me up on Twitter is a faster way to get in touch._

 _I'm not planning to add to this 'verse. But here are a few tidbits I haven't gotten to use:_

 _Blitzwing's sparkling was sired by a Constructicon. It was a one-night thing that didn't really go well, and the 'Structie left early the next morning. Blitz would have liked to have tried for something more, he was quite smitten, but it wasn't to be. Not every relationship is meant to last, and no one really did anything wrong._

 _Cas' designation when he grows up will be Pax Apollo. Optimus is thrilled and flattered and teaches him everything he can. Him and Roller are fast friends and do everything together, and Ratchet has to have words with Sideswipe when he teaches them how to make glue bombs._

 _Roller never changes his name. Of course he doesn't. He grows to be as big as his carrier._

 _One day a transport lands on Cybertron, and a small orange mech disembarks. He's thrilled to be welcomed to a peaceful society._

 _Thank you all so much for reading ^^_


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